A Question of Jurisdiction
by fire4effect
Summary: A chance meeting in a bar envelops Elliot Stabler and Manhattan SVU in a dark, mysterious case.
1. Chapter 01

Chapter 1 

Elliot bypassed the local Irish bar, preferring to spend this evening on his own. Not that he didn't enjoy hanging out with his SVU colleagues, but the drink after work routine had gotten just that - routine. He needed a change. He could skip the after-work drink, of course, but the thought of going home to his empty studio apartment wasn't all that appealing. Maybe a drink would make it more so - at least he hoped that would be the case as he turned into the doorway of a rather gritty-looking bar. Gritty was precisely the way he felt after the Stebbins case. Even a guilty verdict wasn't enough to wash away the grime on that one.

He liked the bar immediately if only because he knew nobody there, and more particularly, nobody knew him. He wasn't Elliot Stabler, the police detective. This wasn't a cop bar. Here he was a stranger - just another mope getting in a little liquid relaxation like a thousand others after work in the city.

He had some thinking to do, after that night he'd been driven to tell Kathy he wanted to come home. It had seemed imperative at the time. But he still hadn't done it – hadn't moved back. Why not? Words, he thought, were easy, action, less so. He didn't know why he hadn't taken action on his words. It was lonely and depressing to be on his own. He loved his family - the kids, Kathy. At least he thought he loved Kathy. He should love Kathy, anyway. Four kids and decades of marriage had to be love, didn't it? But if it was then what was he doing here? He needed to get some things straight in his head and decide whether to fight or to move on.

Elliot sat at the bar and waved over the bartender. He asked for a tap beer. The bar was dark - one of those types of places where you couldn't tell whether it was day or night from inside. It was also not crowded, which he liked. His cop instincts took in the patrons and recorded the details into his analytical brain in an instant. Three white males, mid twenties, sat joking around with each other at a table on the far side. An old Hispanic guy held down the corner barstool on the near side like it belonged to him. A man and a women, mid-thirties, held hands across a small table, their expressions indicating some kind of secret assignation. There was the barkeep, of course, an older man with a narrow chest and a potbelly hanging well over the waistband of his black pants. And a few stools down, a youngish woman with medium length black hair pulled back into a clip. She was very fit looking, Elliot noticed with an appreciative eye. Stop being a dirty old man, he warned himself, you've got daughters not that much younger than her. She looked mid-twenties or so, and while she didn't look hostile, she definitely appeared cool and alert.

He lifted his glass and enjoyed the warmth of the alcohol as it radiated down through his body, relaxing him. It wasn't often when he really relaxed. Even playing dad with the kids, he was always thinking about a case, or always on alert to defend his family against anything that might encroach upon their peace and contentment. He sipped again, not liking how good the feeling of chemical relaxation was. He didn't want to come to rely on it, like so many cops did. That was one reason he was uptight much of the time – fear - fear of becoming something he hated. There were so many anti-role models to withstand in his life and work.

The couple at the nearby table, who had moved on from holding hands to what amounted to light petting, left, their arms wrapped around each other. His sarcastic sense of humor pointed out to himself that at least somebody was getting some. That longing came back - the one that had driven him to spend the night with Kathy again after so long. It was easy - the sex part. You didn't have to think much, all the talking was dirty, and nobody really thought it meant anything.

He was about half finished with his beer when the bartender passed by, bringing a fruity-looking drink to the black-haired woman. Elliot was surprised because it looked like the woman was sipping whiskey. He looked at her again - she was definitely not an umbrella-drink girl, he decided. The drink itself looked alien in the gray surroundings of the bar - it was shockingly pink and he was sure the color could not come from anything found in nature.

"Compliments of the gentlemen." The bartender told her, setting the drink down and gesturing to the three white guys at the table in back who raised their glasses as she looked over.

"Uh - "

She looked surprised, Elliot noticed. Like this pink abomination had startled her out of a deep contemplation of the meaning of life.

"No thanks." She shook her head and looked away from the three guys, pushing the drink back across the counter to the barman, who smiled and picked it up.

The barman shrugged and carried the drink over to the table with the three guys, putting it down. "Sorry, fellas, the lady ain't interested."

The woman, Elliot saw, resumed her quiet contemplation of the bottom of her whiskey glass. It looked like maybe she'd already had a couple, although she carried it well, he appreciated. It had been a while since he'd been in a "normal" social situation outside of work or family, and he realized he was staring, so he resumed his interest in his own beer. A fine tap lager, he assessed, although maybe he'd try a whiskey for the next round.

He'd been appreciating the beer too much, he realized, suddenly noticing one of the guys from the table had joined the woman at the bar. He was standing between the woman and him, leaning into her.

"Come on, baby," the man implored. "Come and have a drink with us." His words were slurred slightly, and the sandy-haired guy was a little unsteady on his feet. Obviously he'd had more than a few, Elliot assessed.

The woman ignored him.

He leaned even closer, pressing his body against her shoulder. "I'm a light switch, baby, and you turn me on. Come on, have one drink with us. Just one. Come on, we won't bite."

She didn't look up at him. "No, thanks," she said firmly.

A guy remaining at the table yelled over, his accent very Brooklyn. "What, she too good to have a drink with the likes of us?"

"Yeah, bitch thinks she's something, don't she?" the man responded, reaching up to touch the woman's black hair.

The Brooklyn guy sauntered up. Elliot put his beer down and watched from his peripheral vision. He wondered if he was going to have to break up something. He wasn't in the mood to get involved with a fracas. That would make him "Stabler, the cop" again, something he had been hoping to avoid. Maybe the bartender would take care of things, he thought, looking around. The bartender, he noticed, was trying to appear busy with the Hispanic guy on the other side of the bar.

"Look," the woman said, pushing the man's hand away from her. "I'm just sitting here, minding my own business. I'm not interested in having a drink with you."

"Bitch ain't interested, she says," Thug Number Two, the Brooklyn one, said, slamming his hand down on the bar with a loud thump.

"I think she is," Thug Number One replied. "I think she wants to come and play with us. Don't you baby?" He put an arm over her shoulder and leaned closer, his face nearly touching hers. "Get over here, Danny!" he called to the third one.

Things were getting ugly real fast, Elliot realized, and the old bartender sure wasn't going to become bouncer material anytime soon. He scoped the three guys quickly for suspicious bulges in their clothing that might indicate guns or knives. There was nothing obvious, but you never knew for sure. He'd known cops to get shot or stabbed by perps that didn't look like they were carrying. He considered his reaction. His cell phone was in his pocket, and he fingered it, knowing he should probably make the call, wondering how long it'd take to get a squad car here – probably too long. He had his sidearm, of course, but using it would be a hell of a lot of paperwork. He hoped it wouldn't be necessary. The three guys were pretty drunk – they were likely slow and stupid. Maybe he'd be able to contain things. He slid off his stool quietly.

The woman then got off her own stool, but Thug Number Two on her right held his ground, not letting her by.

"Whoa, little lady. Where do you think you're going?"

The three men surrounded her. Definitely a dicey situation, Elliot thought, thinking he'd probably have to draw his weapon after all. He stepped forward; sure that taking on three drunks on his own wasn't a particularly smart move.

As he lunged for Thug Number One, who was in between him and the woman, she kneed the man in front of her, and then quickly whirled and dropped a kick into the belly of Danny, Thug Number Three. Elliot had a hold on Thug Number one, forced him forward over the counter, his arm twisted up behind him, immobile. Elliot didn't have to draw his weapon, and he was glad. He'd been planning on subduing Thug Number One and then probably drawing on Thugs Two and Three if they didn't back off, but amazingly the woman had taken care of them handily.

"The lady said she wanted to be left alone, now didn't she?" he breathed into the man's ear, watching the downed men in case they came up for more.

"Fuck you man. Mind your own business."

"Thanks," the woman said, breathing heavily.

She had moved a few yards away and the two guys started picking themselves up off the floor. Elliot noticed that they were having trouble getting up, whether from the woman's blows or the many drinks they had imbibed, he didn't know.

"No problem," he replied. Then he called over to the bartender, "Hey, call the cops to pick up these morons, will you?"

"No!" This came from the woman, who looked wide-eyed. "I'm fine. It's OK. They're just drunk."

"If anything, the cops should arrest you for assault, bitch," Thug Number Two said, bent over at the waist holding his groin area.

"Shut up." Elliot hollered.

"Look," the woman said, "they're going to leave now. Nobody's going to make any trouble." She looked at the men. "If you go now, we won't call the cops. I'm sure you've got better things to do tonight than spend it in a jail cell, don't you boys?"

Elliot didn't like it much. Personally, he thought the creeps deserved at least a night in jail. Everything had turned out OK, but he knew things could have been much different. He'd seen too many other outcomes when it was too late to do anything but file charges and pick up the emotional pieces of a shattered victim. On the other hand, a call to the cops could be more trouble than it was worth. The guys would probably only get drunk and disorderlies, and he'd become Stabler, the police detective, again. He'd have to explain why he'd not identified himself as a cop or called in the incident.

"All right." He nodded at the woman. Then he leaned forward over Thug Number One, who he still had secured. "So you're going to leave nicely and you're not going to bother anyone else tonight, are you." It was not a question, and he punctuated his words with a sharp twist on the arm in his grasp.

"Yeah, fine," the guy gasped in pain. "Just leggo already."

Elliot did so, and the young tough pulled away, massaging his arm. "Come on," he called to his buddies. "Let's get the fuck out of this dump." The three men headed to the door, one limping badly. At the door, he called back, "Fuckin' dyke bitch!"

The bar was suddenly quiet and had the atmosphere of a mild morning after a bad storm. The barman came back making no apologies for his disappearance. Elliot shrugged and sat back down on his barstool. The woman stood for a moment. He imagined she was trying to decide whether she should leave or not. Leaving now might not be a good idea, he thought - those morons could be hanging around outside. It looked as though she had come to the same conclusion, as she returned to her own place at the bar.

The door suddenly banged open, loud in the new quiet of the place, and both Elliot and the woman were instantly on alert again. It was not, however, the three thugs they had so handily dispatched, he saw, relieved. It was another group of young guys, though, these looking like a frat boys out for a night of pub-crawling. One of them called toward the woman, "Hey, baby, what's shaking?" as they entered and crowded around the bar calling out orders to the suddenly-frazzled bartender.

The woman picked up her drink and approached Elliot. "Look," she asked, "can I sit with you?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Don't think I'm hitting on you," her eyes were hard and glared a warning. "'cause I'm not. It's just if I'm with someone then…" She gestured at the frat guys.

"Yeah, sure." He wasn't particularly flattered that the woman apparently thought of him as just some "safe" guy to keep her from being hit on by others. Still, this whiskey-sipping woman who had taken out two men in two seconds intrigued him, so he was more than willing to take a hit in his pride and get a chance to talk to her.

She sat on the stool next to him and took a sip of her whiskey. The glass was nearly empty, and it looked like she could use another. He signaled the bartender, who had finished serving the frats. "Another?" he asked her.

"Sure."

"And I'll have the same," he told the bartender.

"But let me get them," she offered. "I owe you for your help."

"Oh, I think you had those guys pretty well in hand. Those were some nice moves. I'm not sure you needed me."

She snorted. "Drunk or not, I couldn't handle all three of them. I knew you had the sandy-haired one. That's why I went for the other two."

"Huh?"

"I saw you watching. Knew you had that one covered."

She'd seen him, known he was planning to take out Thug Number One. She had good instincts, he thought. Maybe she was a cop. He hadn't seen her around, which meant if she was a cop she didn't work in Manhattan. But there was something not quite cop-like about her. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, though.

"Yeah," she said. "I wouldn't have forced the issue if you hadn't been ready."

"You forced the issue?" he asked, surprised. The woman was certainly brave. Too often he saw a different outcome to this sort of scenario. A woman beaten and raped, doomed to suffer the invasiveness of a medical exam, the indignity of a police investigation, and if she was real lucky, a jury trial where she had to defend her blood alcohol level to twelve strangers who weren't smart enough to get themselves out of jury duty.

She shrugged. The barman brought the whiskeys, and she dropped a twenty, putting up a hand at Elliot's protests.

For a while they sipped their whiskeys in silence, both staring at their glasses. The whiskey burned pleasantly, and Elliot enjoyed it. He risked a glance at the woman. Her features were strong and sharp, her skin tanned under her dark hair. Her eyes were dark and deeply set. She wasn't what most people would label "pretty" or "beautiful" like his wife was, or like his partner was, but she was certainly striking in her own way. Under her short sleeves, he could see very toned biceps. She was slim, but not slight – wiry would be a good word to describe her, he decided.

She looked over at him. "So, you a Marine?"

He blinked. "Uh -"

"The tattoo. The EGA." She nodded to his forearm, which bore the Marine Corps eagle globe anchor emblem, displayed under his rolled-up shirtsleeve. "You handle yourself well."

"Yeah. Well, a while ago," he answered.

"Once a Marine, always a Marine, isn't that how it goes?"

He chuckled. That was what they all said, although he didn't particularly feel it. That part of his life was over a while ago, and he was glad of it. Then something clicked. Yeah, she wasn't a cop… "You, too, aren't you?"

For a moment he thought he saw fear in her eyes, but it was fleeting. Her gaze grew steady again and she smiled a little. "What, you think I'm a jarhead?"

He looked her up and down. "Hmm. Maybe not a Marine. Definitely military, though. Am I right?"

She didn't say anything then, but her expression changed. She went back to perusing her glass again.

He drank another sip of his whiskey, giving her some space. She'd been the one who'd brought up the damn Marines. It wasn't something he thought about that often. At least he tried not to, anyway.

After a few minutes, she turned back to him. "Sorry. You're right. Navy."

He nodded. "Swabbie, huh? I take back everything I said about you having those thugs in-hand. Must have been sheer dumb luck." He grinned broadly. The rivalry between the two military branches was a strong and enduring one.

"And to think I trusted you to have my back. If only I'd spotted that tattoo sooner..." she moaned, mock-ruefully.

Elliot noticed that she looked more relaxed than she'd seemed before. He smiled. "Aww, now you're going to tell me -"

She interrupted him, raising her glass. "You can always tell a Marine, but you can't tell him much."

She laughed as if this was the funniest thing in the world. Maybe the alcohol was finally showing some effect on her, he thought, smiling back at the ancient joke.

"I'm Elliot."

"Juliet." She drained her glass and signaled for another.

"You sure you want to do that? That's not kool-aid."

She chuckled. "Kool-aid! That's what they're all drinking." She nodded at the barman, holding up her empty glass.

"Huh?"

"Those bastards that sent us. You know." Her new drink arrived and she started into it.

"Uh, OK," he said. "You might want to take it easy." She had about half the drink downed in a couple swigs, ignoring his words.

"Look, you don't tell me what to do. You think just because you helped put down a couple drunken pissants that you can sit there and judge me. I don't need you."

"Okay. Sorry." He backed off. Touchy, he thought. Then words she had spoken sunk in 'the bastards that sent us' - sounded like she'd been in Iraq, or maybe Afghanistan. He'd heard that with the increasing duration of the war in Iraq and the shortage of staff, more Naval personnel were being stationed there. Yeah, he recognized it in her eyes. She'd been there. Damn desert. It changed people. "So you were over there?" he asked.

She looked at him sharply, but then her face softened and she nodded.

"That sucks," he said.

"Yeah."

The bar door opened and a tall man entered. Elliot took note of him as had with all the patrons. This guy was big, but fit. His brown hair was longish and a little scraggly-looking, and he sported a goatee. He wore what looked like a wifebeater under an open plaid shirt. The guy looked at Juliet with a long glance that Elliot didn't like. He stared back at the newcomer hard, eyes narrowed. He wondered briefly if he was subconsciously trying to defend some territory he thought he'd won, and then told himself that he was being was ridiculous. They were just having a drink together, nothing more than that. Hell, she was only sitting with him to keep random losers from hitting on her. So he was doing her a favor by running off goatee-guy.

He watched the newcomer sit down at the bar by the Hispanic guy and order himself a beer.

"Time for another round," Juliet announced, draining the rest of her drink.

Elliot could tell she was getting drunk. Her words were slurring a bit and the natural alertness she had displayed had definitely faded. He was pretty certain she wouldn't be up to taking on any more drunken pissants should the need arise.

When the bartender poured another measure of whiskey in her glass, she hoisted it, gave a mock toasting motion, and said, "You know, sometimes I wish I was back there."

"The Middle East?" he asked, surprised.

"Fuckin' A!"

"Why?"

She took a sip of the whiskey. "Because you knew where you stood there. You did your job. Sure, the little brown bastards hated our guts, but we all stuck together. There was us and there was them. We wouldn't take any of that shit, you know? You knew somebody had your back. Things are different here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. At least over there you knew where you stood," she repeated. "But here people just fuck you over and you can't do shit about it." She slammed her hand down on the bar. "Bastards."

"When'd you get back?" he asked.

"Six months."

"When'd you get out?"

"Huh?"

"Or are you still in the Navy?"

She took another swig of her drink and then laughed, sputtering a bit on the whiskey. "Shhhh." she said, putting a finger to her wet lips. "It's a secret. You can't tell."

"Tell what?"

She laughed again. But then strangely she started to cry. Alcohol was a funny thing, Elliot knew. It magnified emotions and reduced inhibitions. He watched her cry and he didn't like it. Her tears belied her strength. She didn't look anymore like the strong young woman he'd met. Only an hour or so had passed, but now she looked more like the women he dealt with on an almost daily basis - the victims, shaky and crying, shattered. He waited, not wanting to push her. He knew how seeing the kinds of things you see in a war zone could really mess you up.

"I'm not out. Well, I'm out, but I'm not really out." The tears changed to a laugh again. "You know."

He didn't. For a moment her talk of being 'out' made him think maybe she had been discharged for being gay or something, which didn't fit anything he'd learned or come to believe about her to this point. Suddenly another thought struck him. "You're UA?"

"Shhhh!"

"Uh, okay." He was a cop, but the military had their own laws and their own enforcement. It wasn't really his business if she had taken an unauthorized absence from the Navy. Still, he couldn't help wondering why. It had sounded like she liked being in the military, that she even liked her tour in a combat zone for God knows what reason. Mentally unstable, maybe, he wondered briefly, but then dismissed it. Before she'd had so many drinks, she'd seemed all right.

"Why are you UA? Decide you don't like the Navy anymore?" He smiled and tried to make the question casual and lighter than it was.

She slammed her hand down on the bar, and he could see her blinking back tears from her eyes. "I fucking love the Navy!" Her voice was loud and angry.

"Then what are you doing? You can get in some real trouble, you know."

She didn't reply, and he noticed she was crying again, quietly, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, to try to comfort her. As his hand touched her body, she jerked as if electrified, jumped up from the stool unsteadily and knocked his hand away.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" she seethed through gritted teeth.

Her eyes glared at him, and he knew that look. He'd seen it a million times in his work. She'd been assaulted, maybe even raped. Not too long ago, either, he speculated. He pulled his hand back. "Sorry."

She stood there, again looking as if she was wondering whether to stay or go. He hoped she wouldn't leave. She was too drunk and too upset to be out on the streets alone. If she left he'd have to go after her, make sure she was OK, and he didn't think she'd take that very well given her state of mind.

"Sorry. Look, I was just trying to help a fellow serviceman," he said, wondering if women in the service referred to themselves as servicemen anymore. It was an odd term, but service-person was in no way better. "Why don't you sit back down? I'll buy you a cup of coffee. You've had a lot to drink."

She hesitated, but then sat back down. "I did love it, you know." Her voice was quiet and her eyes grew sad.

"It's okay. Here, wait a minute. Can we get some coffee down here?" he called out to the bartender.

When the coffee came, at least it was hot, he observed, sipping the burnt-tasting sludge. He guessed they didn't get much call for java in this place. The noisy frat boys moved on. He and Juliet, the Hispanic guy, and the long-haired goatee guy were the only customers left. He knew without looking at his watch that it was getting late. He should really get home and get some sleep, but he didn't want to leave. He couldn't leave this woman in the state she was in.

He thought for a moment about asking her back to his place. Not in _that _way, he told himself. Just to help her out.

Who are you kidding, the darker side of his alcohol-relaxed brain prodded him. He frowned. If he couldn't be certain of his own motives, the woman certainly wouldn't be, either. No, asking her back to his place was not a possibility.

The door opened again. Elliot looked up automatically. He was surprised to see two men in Marine Corps uniforms enter the bar. This dive was pretty far from any military base. There wasn't much uniform traffic in these parts.

She saw them too, and jumped up, quickly moving behind Elliot, passing into the back hallway of the bar where the bathrooms were.

Elliot looked again and noticed that the Marines were wearing white armbands that read "MP" on them. Military Police. What the hell? He got up and followed the woman. He found her trying to open the back exit door, which was locked. It was a violation of fire regulations, but he guessed it kept people from ducking out on their bar tabs. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

"Please, I need to go." She looked suddenly dead sober, and very afraid.

"Well, you're not getting out that door," he said, gesturing to the padlock and chain. "Maybe I can help you. What do they want you for?"

She shook her head. "What do you mean? I just need to get out of here."

"Sure. It's just a coincidence that you're UA from the Navy, the military cops are out there in the bar and at this very moment you just have a strong desire to leave out the back way. What's going on? They'll be back here in a minute, you know."

He heard voices calling, footsteps coming.

"I need to get out of here. Please."

"You'd better tell me quick then."

Her eyes were wild and he could see the internal debate written in her face. He looked at her, tried to show her with his eyes and his expression that she could trust him.

"I didn't mean to do it," she whispered urgently. "He… he raped me. Please, help me." Her face was panicked.

"You didn't mean to do what? Who raped you?"

"Please, there's no time. If they take me, it's over. I'll be in Leavenworth. Or dead."

The two large Marine MPs loomed up behind Elliot. "Sir," one of them said in a gruff voice, "I need you to step aside. We're here to take Lieutenant Miller into custody. Lieutenant, please don't resist."

Elliot saw the look in Juliet's face, and he knew in that instant that he didn't want her to be taken by the MPs. He knew that something was really wrong – he felt it - that instinct that served him so well in his police work. He didn't know what was going on, but he wanted to do something. No, he needed to do something. Taking on two Marine MPs physically was not an option, however. He thought fast. He needed to buy some time – to get someplace where he could talk to Juliet, find out her story. Leaning forward a bit, he spoke under his breath, quiet enough so the MPs wouldn't hear. "Hit me."

"What?" she whispered back, eyes wild.

He nodded. "Hit me," he mouthed.

She stood still, staring at him. He reached out and grasped her shoulders, leaning in close. "Trust me. Do it. And make it good."

With a confused expression, she drew back and threw a roundhouse punch that caught him hard on the left side of the jaw, nearly knocking him off his feet. The woman had some game, he thought through the pain radiating across his head. He bent down, recovering for a moment, keeping his body between the Marines and the woman. Then he stood, wiping blood from his lip. He spoke loudly. "Juliet Miller, I'm placing you under arrest for assaulting a police officer."

"What?" she said, surprised.

He turned her around and pushed her forward against the wall and began a standard weapons pat down.

"Sir, we need to take Lieutenant Miller," one of the Marines said.

"Sorry fellows. She's mine. I'm a cop." He pulled out his badge. "Assaulting a police officer is a crime. And this is my jurisdiction."

"You're a co-" Juliet started.

He pushed her forward quickly and leaned over her as he continued patting her down. "Shut up," he whispered sharply in her ear.

"We got our orders, sir," the Marine said.

"Yeah, well, you'll follow mine now. This isn't a military base. I'm NYPD. My house, my rules." Elliot cuffed Julia's hands behind her back, taking care to fasten the cuffs as loosely as he dared.

He pulled out his phone and called in, asking for a patrol unit.

"Sir, you can't do this," the Marine objected, blocking Elliot's path back down the hallway.

"You'd be surprised what I can do. Like arrest you for obstruction."

Grasping Miller by the elbow, he steered her around the Marines, out of the back hallway, and across the barroom. The bartender was nowhere in sight – it seemed like disappearing during times of trouble was his standard operating procedure. The longhaired guy was watching them with hooded eyes as they passed - like he was interested, but didn't want to seem interested. Elliot gave him another warning glance and hoped he'd mind his own business.

The Marines trailed after them, but Elliot ignored them. Once he and Juliet passed through the open door he let it close behind them, separating them briefly from the MPs.

"What are you doing?" she whispered urgently in a low voice.

"Buying you some time," he said quietly. "While the jurisdiction gets sorted out, you'll be in our custody. You tell me what happened and I'll do what I can for you."

As the Marines came through the door, he saw the flashing lights of the squad car approaching from a couple blocks down. That was quick, he thought, the patrol must have been pretty close.

"Sir, I don't think you realize. We're here to arrest Lieutenant Miller for desertion at time of war and attempted murder of her commanding officer," the larger of the MPs said.

What the hell had he gotten himself into? Attempted murder? Desertion? That was some serious shit. He looked at her again, surprised. She shook her head slowly and looked up at him. He saw the pain there, in her dark glistening eyes, and in that instant he knew he was doing the right thing. She needed a chance, and he was going to do his damndest to give it to her.

"Look," he said, turning to the MPs. "I don't want to get into a pissing match, fellas. We'll sort it out down at the precinct. Let them handle it upstairs. That's what the brass is for, right?" He smiled and held out his right hand to one of the Marine MPs, conspicuously letting his EGA tattoo show. "Semper Fi?"

The MP stared at him for a long moment, and then took his hand and shook it, a bit grudgingly. "Semper Fi."

Elliot showed his ID to the uniform cops who arrived, opened the door of the squad car and helped Juliet inside carefully. Her dark hair was soft against his hand as he guided her head through the door of the car. He stepped around to the other side of the car and got in next to Juliet, noticing the longhaired goatee man watching from the bar doorway.


	2. Chapter 02

Chapter 2 

After she'd been processed through Central Booking, Elliot brought Juliet to the interrogation room and stepped back out to get some coffee for him and some water for her. She probably wasn't in great shape to be questioned; he assumed she was still pretty drunk. But he needed to get her story, and quick, and the booking process had unfortunately eaten heavily into remaining hours of the night. The squad room was pretty quiet. All his colleagues would still be home sleeping, as, he reminded himself, he should be doing as well, had he just gone to O'Malley's with the others. But no, he thought. He'd had to try something new… He poured himself coffee, grimacing a little because it looked pretty old, and he picked up a bottle of water from the fridge.

Back in the interrogation room, he set the water in front of her. "Drink it."

She opened the bottle and drank, sipping slowly.

He waited and watched. She looked more than a little disheveled. The clip had slipped sideways in her hair, and her eyes were red. She looked as tired as he felt. He waited while she drank the water, hoping the hydration would speed her sobering up, although the adrenalin from the incident with the MPs and her subsequent arrest and booking had probably assisted in that as well. He sipped his own coffee, grateful for the caffeine jolt if not the flavor.

He considered his own state – he'd had a couple beers and a whiskey over the course of the evening; it was not something that would be problematic, he decided, although it was certainly not preferred.

She finished the water and set the empty bottle down on the table.

"How are you feeling?" Elliot asked.

"Like shit."

"Yeah." He nodded. "I need you to talk to me."

"You're a cop." She said it matter-of-factly.

He nodded again, unable to read her expression.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him.

He shrugged. "I was just getting a drink after work. I wasn't on the job."

"You could have said something. If I'd known -" she broke off.

"If you'd known, you'd be under arrest by the MPs right now."

"Instead of being under arrest here, by you, you mean."

"Yeah. This won't stick though. The DA will plead it down to a misdemeanor or else the arresting officer will drop the charges." He grinned a little bit. "I had to do it. It was the only way to keep them from taking you."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?" he asked back.

"Why did you do it? You didn't have to get involved."

He shrugged. "Looked like you needed a friend."

"I don't _need_ anybody."

Her voice was defiant then, he noticed, strong and fiery. She sounded more like that woman who'd taken on three drunks in the bar and not like the frightened woman begging him for help getting away from the MPs. Good, he decided. She's going to need some fire in her belly to get through this.

"Maybe I shouldn't have," he said, his voice rising at the end as if it were a question.

"Maybe not."

"Why do you say that? Did you try to murder your CO?"

"No." Her voice rang out clear and strong.

"Desertion in time of war, that's pretty serious. That used to be a hanging offense, didn't it?"

She looked at him as if he were some kind of idiot. "I served in Afghanistan and Iraq. If I'd wanted to desert, don't you think I would have done it before that rather than after?" Her face was angry.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they were going to send you back and you didn't want to go?"

"I never heard of an upcoming deployment, but I'd have gone if they wanted to send me. Hell, if it'd have gotten me out of my current station, I'd have gone to Antarctica gladly."

"What's wrong with your current station? It's got to suck pretty bad if you prefer Iraq or Afghanistan." He considered this. "You said you were raped. Is that why you want out?"

She looked down, stopped meeting his eyes.

"I'm just trying to help you, Juliet. If you want my help, you've got to work with me."

She rubbed her face with her hand, oblivious to smearing what makeup remained. She sighed deeply, and then looked up at him as if she'd come to a decision. "Yeah. He raped me."

Her dark eyes showed resolution and determination, but he could see the pain behind them. He'd spent a lot of years learning to read people. She was strong, but she was hurting, too. And she was telling the truth. "Who?"

"My CO."

Her eyes were guarded as she spoke, as if she were judging his reaction, suspicious that he wouldn't believe her. As a detective in Special Victims, it was his job to believe the victims – to give them a sounding board for their pain and suffering, and to gather the evidence needed to seek justice. That was not saying that victims didn't lie, they did, and more often than he cared to admit. Still, his default setting was to believe the victim, and more than that, he believed Juliet. Not just because it was his job. Not just because she was claiming to be a victim. He'd only spent a few hours with her, really only exchanged a few words, but he just knew, in his gut, that she was telling the truth.

He nodded. "OK. I want you to start at the beginning and tell me everything."

"I'm not sure," she said, looking at him tiredly, shaking her head slightly, "where the beginning is."

"When did he rape you?"

She took a breath, held it for a moment, and then released it. "Can I get some of that coffee?"

She was stalling. It was something that victims did, he knew. A tactic to delay them having to face what happened to them, having to talk about it – flaying open their lives and experience for an outside onlooker. It was understandable, and he preferred to give victims the time they needed to get their stories told. Unfortunately, time wasn't something in abundance on this one. The good thing was that Juliet seemed strong and capable. Hell, she'd dealt with war zones. Being in a police interrogation room should be a piece of cake. He nodded. "Sure. I'll get you some coffee in a minute. But let's get started first. When were you assaulted?"

At that moment, the door of the interrogation room opened. Elliot's boss, Captain Donald Cragan, stood in the open doorway, and he didn't look happy.

"Detective, may I see you a moment?" His voice was flat and strained.

Elliot turned back to Juliet and gave her a quick smile as he got up. "I'll be back with that coffee."

Closing the door behind him, he saw his boss walking through the doorway of his office. That was a bad sign. It was one thing to get an ass chewing in the squad room, but if it was going to be in the captain's office then it would probably be bad. Not that he wasn't expecting some fallout over this, but given the lateness -or rather now earliness - of the hour, the speed at which it appeared to have come surprised him. The shit was apparently coming down fast enough to get his captain out of bed, which wasn't a good sign.

Cragan looked tired and rumpled - and angry. When you saw Donald Cragan in his usual state, he generally wore the calm expression of a friendly basset hound. But when he was angry, his face took on an entirely different appearance. Elliot much preferred the hound-dog look. He'd seen the other before - too often - in his career with SVU.

"Close the door." Cragan ordered stonily as Elliot entered.

He took a breath and closed the door, bracing himself, knowing better than to start to speak. He stood up straight and arranged his face into an impassive expression.

"Why am I getting calls from One Police Plaza in the middle of the night?" Cragan didn't wait for him to answer, but plowed on. "Could it be because the Chief of Detectives is getting calls in the middle of the night from the Police Commissioner? And could that be because the Commissioner's getting calls in the middle of the night from the Judge Advocate General's office of the United States Navy?" He shook his head. "You know what they say about shit rolling downhill, Detective. Well, guess who's at the bottom?" He glared at Elliot.

Elliot waited. He knew that his captain was not yet done, and to interrupt him was only to delay the inevitable.

"The Commissioner's not happy, the Chief of Detectives is not happy, and damn it, I'm not happy! Of all things to get yourself wrapped up in - what in the hell were you thinking sticking your nose into a military matter?"

"Cap, I had to bring her in," he explained. "It was straight out assault on a police officer."

Cragan sat down heavily, his office chair squeaking, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Uh huh. You going to stick with that story then, are you?"

Elliot spread his arms in a "what else can I do" gesture. "It's the truth."

"And since when does a punch outweigh attempted murder charges? Desertion?"

"Assault on a police officer is serious. We got her first, and it's our jurisdiction."

"Your charge isn't going to stick. You know that. You're just pissing with the military and I want to know why."

Cragan's voice wasn't loud. Elliot knew from experience that it didn't have to be. The captain's voice, although not raised, conveyed the extreme seriousness of what he'd gotten himself and his superior officer into. It was akin to how a good parent can convey their disappointment without shouting – and his captain was a master at it. Hell, he could give lessons. In that moment Elliot felt not like an experienced police detective but like a teenager who'd gravely disappointed his father. He swallowed and took a breath, willing himself to keep his own response in check. "Look, Captain, the woman needs help. She was raped. I couldn't let them just take her."

"And when did she tell you this, Elliot? When the MPs were on her ass and you just happen to work Special Victims?"

"She didn't know I was a cop when she told me." He shook his head. "And I believe her, Cap. She was raped and she's on the run from something bad. I know it."

"And how did you decide that it was any of your business?"

"I had to do something."

Cragan sighed. "You've got a dozen open cases on your desk. What possible reason could you have to go looking for more?"

He shook his head again. "I wasn't looking for anything, Cap. It just fell in my lap."

Cragan was silent. Elliot watched his face, tried to keep his cool. The Cap was a good guy. He'd had his and Olivia's backs plenty of times, probably far more than they'd deserved. Pushing Cragan was generally counteractive. He just had to wait and hope that his Captain would trust him. Not that he deserved it, he thought, recollecting just how many times he'd gotten himself or the unit into hot water, and how many times the captain had stuck by him despite these occasional issues.

"OK," Cragan sighed. "See what you can get out of her. In the morning we'll talk to the DA's office and see how this is going to play out legally. I can keep the military off our backs for a few hours anyway, so she's ours for now." He picked up the phone receiver as Elliot turned. "You'd better hope that this pans out, Elliot, or our asses are gonna be in a sling."

As Elliot passed through the office door, his boss called after him, "You should have just gone to O'Malley's."

"Yeah," Elliot grunted, more to himself than to Cragan. Wasn't that the truth.


	3. Chapter 03

Chapter 3 

As he'd promised, Elliot brought a cup of coffee when he returned to the interrogation room. Juliet sat up straight as he entered the room – probably a habit from her training. At least she hadn't jumped up to attention, he thought. She looked tired, but like she was trying to hide it. That was the military for you, he thought, remembering from his own Marine Corps days, the ones he didn't care to ruminate over. Never show weakness. Even so, she looked like hell. It had been a long night, and he was pretty sure he wasn't looking all that fresh himself.

He set the cup down. "Here you go. I hope it's OK. It's probably been on the hotplate a while."

She sipped it and grimaced.

"You Navy guys are soft," he told her. "Compared to what I had when I was in the Corps, this is top notch." He saw the corners of her mouth turn up just a bit at this.

"You jarheads wouldn't know good coffee if you bathed in it. Although given the state of hygiene of most Marines, that would certainly be an improvement."

It was good to see she could still give as good as she got. It was pretty amazing given the events of the evening.

"So," she asked, "where are we?"

"This is where I work - my precinct. I guess we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Elliot Stabler, NYPD."

"I gathered that. I'm Juliet Miller."

He nodded. "I gathered that. Lieutenant, right?"

She nodded.

"I work in the Special Victims Unit here in Manhattan."

"What's that?"

"We deal with crimes that have a sexual basis."

"They have a separate group for that?" she asked.

He nodded.

"How come?"

He shrugged. "I guess it's like different divisions in the military – you've got infantry, artillery, air support, commandos… Things work better when you specialize." He leaned across the table. "Look, Lieutenant, I gotta be honest with you. The Navy's not happy that we've got you here. They've already got my Captain out of bed, and he's definitely not happy about it. I need you to talk to me now."

"I thought we were talking."

"You know what I mean. I need you to tell me about the rape. Tell me how you ended up on the run from the MPs."

She said nothing, but she looked plenty uncomfortable. Her face suddenly appeared frozen and stiff, as if she was willing the expression from it. She was looking in his direction, but not meeting his eyes.

He could see a muscle in her jawline twitching slightly. "I know it's difficult. Talk to me."

She wouldn't look at him.

They didn't have a lot of time, Elliot knew. He wasn't sure how far he could push. Sure, being in the Navy might have made her strong, but sometimes strong things – things that didn't bend – were prone to snapping. The alcohol, the MPs, being arrested, it would all be adding to the mix of stressors. Sometimes stress was a good thing – it worked in getting suspects to talk. But if a victim hit that tipping point of stress, things could go downhill real quick. Still, she had to want to talk to him. She'd confided the fact that she had been raped.

"You can do this. Show me how strong you are by telling me what happened."

She snorted suddenly. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not strong. If I was strong, I wouldn't be here."

"Juliet, I know you're strong. You've had to be. Being raped doesn't mean you're weak."

"I'm not strong."

"What do you mean?"

"If I was strong, I would have just gotten over it."

He sighed. "Juliet, nobody just gets over being raped."

"What do you know about it?"

He held his reply of "I deal with rape victims every day." While it was true, it certainly wouldn't be helpful. No matter how many rape victims he dealt with, he couldn't really know what it was like for them. He could empathize and he could sympathize, and he could analyze their behavior. But he couldn't ever _know_. She was now a member of a terrible club that he'd almost certainly never be a part of, no matter how many victims he helped in his job.

"I know that rape is a terrible crime," he started. "I know that it's far more than a physical act of sex or violence. It's betrayal and violation and dehumanization. Strength and time can help you work through it and heal, but it's not something you can just get over, no matter who you are."

She drank a sip of the coffee and looked into the cup. "See, I don't understand that. I mean, I wasn't a virgin. It's not like I'd never had sex before. What he did didn't physically hurt me all that much. I should have been able to get on with my life and my career. I mean, so what it happened? I've seen people blown to pieces, guys with their guts hanging out, bodies beaten to death and left to rot in the streets…"

Her voice trailed off as though she was lost in thought and memory. That was something that he himself knew all too well, not only from his time in the Marines, but from his time as a cop as well. He knew firsthand how it battered the soul to see such horrific things. Her downcast eyes moistened. He started to speak, but she continued, her voice strengthening and showing disgust.

"I've seen the starving, the maimed, the hopeless… So what if some guy put his penis in my vagina?" She shook her head. "In the grand scheme of things it doesn't make one bit of difference."

"We aren't talking about the grand scheme of things," he said gently. "We're talking about you. Somebody hurt you. It doesn't matter if you weren't physically affected in the same way as someone on the wrong side of a bomb or a bullet. He was your CO. It was an act of terrible betrayal. His job is to support and take care of those under his command. Your job was to do your duty to the Navy and the country. That doesn't include being an outlet for one man's perversion and abuse."

Her eyes continued to water, although he could tell she was trying to blink away any tears, to maintain her hardened expression. But it wasn't working, and she resorted to wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. She emitted no sound, though.

"Please, Juliet. If you want my help, you've got to talk to me. We don't have much time before the military's down here banging on the door. There's a good chance we'll have to hand you over to them."

After a long shaky breath, she took the final swallow of coffee from the cup. "So," she asked, "where's the head?"

He should have gotten a female officer to accompany her into the bathroom, he knew. But it was late and there weren't many officers around. And Juliet wasn't a criminal, really, the assault charge on him notwithstanding. She was a victim. He took her to the women's restroom and waited in the hallway. After a while he looked at his watch. It was nearing five in the morning and he wasn't much further into getting her story. There was still time, though. He couldn't imagine the military getting anybody up to the precinct before at least nine or ten. Cragan had said he'd buy him at least a few hours. It didn't look like either of them would be getting any sleep anytime soon.

She was certainly taking her time, he thought, looking again at his watch. He called through the doorway, "How are you doing in there?"

There was no reply.

He listened at the doorway but heard nothing. She had to be in there, he knew. He'd been in the hallway the whole time. She couldn't have gotten past without him noticing, and they were on an upper floor so she couldn't have gotten out a window. "Juliet?" he called again. She didn't answer. "I'm going to come in." He entered the bathroom, which was silent and seemed deserted. What the hell? Most of the stall doors were ajar. He noticed the last stall door was closed and he went to it and found it locked. "Juliet?" he called through the door. "You okay?"

There was a noise behind him as the stall door nearest to the hallway banged open and a figure rushed out.

Damn it! What the hell did she think she was doing? He answered his own question ruefully: Tricking your sorry ass. It had been bad police work all around. First to let her go in alone, and then for him to go immediately to the closed door at the far end of the room without checking out the other stalls. Victim or not, he never should have trusted her. He ran out. She had youth on her side, but he had anger on his.

He was on the first landing when she reached the bottom floor. The area was chaotic, despite the early morning hour. The noise of running had drawn the attention of the desk sergeant, who had looked up. "Stop her!" Elliot yelled.

In a moment, she was face down on the floor, the desk sergeant and another burly uniformed cop on top of her, pulling her hands behind her back and securing them with a zip cuff. They hoisted her up by the underarms.

"This belong to you, Detective?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem."

He took hold of her arm and walked her away. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

She didn't answer. She was breathing heavily – it sounded like she'd had the wind knocked out of her, which she probably had. Jamesson, the desk sergeant, certainly looked as though he'd had more than a doughnut or two in his day.

He punched the elevator button with a vengeance. What in the hell had he gotten himself into? Next time he'd stick with O'Malley's. Nothing extraordinary ever seemed to happen there. He could have had a pleasant drink with his colleagues and he'd have been home sleeping long before now. But no, he'd had to go looking for something different. Well, he berated himself, he'd found it.

The elevator doors closed behind them, and they remained silent for the ride back upstairs.

He took her back to the interrogation room and sat her back down in the chair, arms still cuffed behind her.

"You know I could charge you with escape and attempting to allude a police officer."

She shrugged.

"I'm trying to help you. What the hell are you playing at?"

She remained silent.

After her attempted flight, she looked even worse for wear. She'd lost her hairclip entirely, and her dark hair hung lankly about her face, which despite the tan, looked alarmingly pallid. Her eyes were as bloodshot as ever, and it looked like she'd hit her chin on the floor when the sergeant had taken her down. There was a grazed area that was oozing blood, and it looked like she'd have a few bruises.

Elliot left for a moment and returned with the first aid kit. He put some antiseptic solution on a cottonball and dabbed her chin, cleaning the wound. Then he put some ointment on a bandaid and carefully applied it. "There. Is that OK?"

She nodded.

"That was really stupid."

She nodded again.

"What's going on?"

She took a breath, held it for a moment, and the exhaled noisily. "You said they'll be here soon."

"Who?"

"The Navy or the MPs. I don't want them to take me."

"Look," he said, "I understand how you feel about the Navy right now -"

"I fucking love the Navy!" she retorted hotly. Then she started to cry with those same silent tears.

He watched her. A lot of times it helped the victims to cry – to give expression to the emotions that ran rampant through their minds. Sometimes the release of tears enabled them to lower their defenses and allowed them to talk about their assault. He hoped this was the case for Juliet. She still seemed tightly wound and her expression told him that she didn't want to be crying, didn't want him to see her crying.

"I love the Navy," she declared again.

Her nose was running now, he saw, dripping with the tears down her shirtfront. He went around the table and released her hands from the zip cuffs and tossed a box of tissues on the table in front of her.

"Thanks," she said simply, cleaning herself up and blowing her nose.

"OK, you love the Navy." He sat back down.

"Yeah. I love it. I've been in for four years. I joined ROTC so they'd pay for my college, but they trained me and they believed in me. They gave me a purpose. And I was good at it."

He nodded.

"Then that fucker had to come along and ruin it."

"Your CO?"

She blew her nose again. "Yeah, Commander Stephen K. Rodacker."

"He's the one who raped you."

She nodded again.

"Tell me how it happened."

She took a shaky, wet breath. "He was always on my case. Since I was transferred to his command last year, after I got back from overseas. I was the first woman in his unit. He didn't like it."

"He didn't like that you were a woman?"

She shook her head. "His unit is pretty elite. I was the first woman to get in. He didn't think I deserved to be there."

"Why not?"

"The brass has been trying to integrate women into the remaining units that have historically been all male. Rodacker's been somehow avoiding it until I showed up. He didn't think I'd earned my place. He didn't think a woman could be as good as his men."

She rubbed her eyes. "I earned my spot. I passed all the qualifications. I had a good record. I served in Iraq, Afghanistan. Nobody just gave it to me. I fucking earned it!"

"Of course you did."

"It didn't matter to him. He wanted me out and he didn't care what it took. He was just always on my back about something. He wrote me up for every little thing he could think of – insubordination, uniform violations, tardiness, disrespecting an officer, dereliction of duty, whatever. Most of it was made up. My career was heading down the toilet."

"Could you have transferred?"

"Maybe at first. But he put all kinds of bad stuff in my jacket so nobody'd want to take me. Like I said, I would have gone back to Iraq or to anyplace. I think Rodacker wanted me to be stuck. He wanted me out, but he didn't want me to transfer. He wanted to break me."

Sounded like a real bastard, all right, Elliot thought. He'd known plenty of them, both now and before. "Tell me about the assault."

She wiped her eyes again. All her mascara was gone, smudged darkly around her eyes, which were sunken from exhaustion. "He had written me up for insubordination and failing to follow orders. That wasn't anything new except this time he told me to come to his office that night for punishment duty."

"That was out of the ordinary?"

"He'd never done it to me before, but he did give people duty shifts in the middle of the night sometimes as punishment – guard duty, cleaning patrol, that sort of thing. That's what I figured, or that he was just messing with me."

"What happened when you showed up that night?"

"He made me stand at attention while he told me what a failure I was... How the Navy had wasted time and money and saddled him with my sorry ass. Then he told me that women didn't belong in the Navy, in combat, or in a war zone. He said that I put a lot of lives at risk when I was deployed and that he'd see to it that I'd never be deployed again. That it was too risky for women to be over there."

"How was it too risky?" he asked.

She paused for a moment. "He said that I was lucky not to have been raped over there."

"He brought up the subject of rape?" Elliot asked, surprised.

"Yeah. He said that the Iraqi insurgents would love to get their hands on me. That I'd be a security risk to the men stationed there because I'd never stand up to interrogation. They'd rape me and I'd betray my unit, the military, and my country."

She stopped. Her eyes closed tightly and she took a deep breath. Elliot could hear her shaky exhalation.

Her face grew hardened. She opened eyes that flashed with anger. "That pissed me off. He had no right to say that. I'd been there. I got a hell of a lot more respect by the guys over there than from Rodacker. Hell, I got more respect from the civilians over there who hated our guts than from Rodacker."

Elliot nodded.

Her chiseled expression softened. "I… I shouldn't have said anything;" She bit her lower lip. "I knew Rodacker was… angry, maybe unbalanced - that he hated me. But I just couldn't help it. I told him he was an ass and that I'd rather be over there in the desert than there in his office."

She looked down at the table. "He hit me. Knocked me down. He called me a whore and said he'd show me what it was like. He'd show me what the enemy would do if they got their hands on me. He was so strong. I tried to fight him…" Her voice trailed off.

Elliot gave her time. He was disgusted, as he usually was when hearing a victim's account of her assault. He'd heard of worse assaults as far as physical carnage and torment, but this violation turned his stomach nonetheless. This brave young woman had served her country, had been in a war zone, and for her to be treated like this by someone who was responsible for her well-being… To say it disgusted him was a hell of an understatement.

She hadn't spoken further. She sat there, silent, eyes closed, teeth clamped down on her bottom lip.

"And then?" Elliot prompted.

"I kicked at him and tried to run. I'm pretty good, got more than passing in hand-to-hand, but he was better. He had me down again before I got to the door. He used a phone cord to tie my hands to the leg of the desk so I couldn't fight him. I tried to scream, but he shoved something in my mouth."

She drew in a long, shuddering breath and rested her head in her hands. "I feel sick. Can I have some more water?"

"In a minute." He didn't want her to stop now. It had been tough to get her this far. "Keep going. What happened next?"

"What the hell do you think?"

"I think - that you have to tell me," He enunciated the words clearly.

"He… raped… me…" she parodied his enunciation, glaring at him.

Good, he thought. She was releasing some of her anger. Even if she was mad at him for putting her through this, it should at least be cathartic. "Keep going," he prodded.

She sighed. "Afterward, he got off me. He left me there, tied to the desk, while cleaned himself up. I just lay there and waited. I should have tried to get away. Maybe I could have loosened the phone cord or spit out the gag. But I couldn't make myself move. I wondered if he'd kill me. I think maybe part of me sort of wanted it to be over."

She paused, putting her hand over her mouth, her pale skin case in something of a greenish glow. Her face was pale and she indeed looked ill.

"It's OK," he said. "You were in shock. It's not uncommon."

She rolled her eyes. "I should have been able to deal with it. I should have been stronger. After a while he untied me and helped me get up. He took me into his bathroom and made me wash up, fix my clothes." She paused. "Then he told me I was lucky - " Her voice choked off.

"He'd just raped you and he told you that you were lucky?" Elliot asked, always a little stunned at how delusional rapists, pedophiles, and other violent criminals could be.

She cleared her throat. "Uh, he said if it had been insurgents, there'd have been more of them, and they'd have killed me after they did me. I was lucky that it was just him and that I'd be walking out alive…" She broke off again.

"Then what happened," he asked gently.

She inhaled a shaky breath, steadying herself. "He said that nobody'd believe me if I reported it. He'd put all that bad stuff in my file, and he'd do more. He'd end my career if I didn't keep quiet. And he told me he knew people – you know, guys who you didn't want after you. If I said anything I'd be wishing I hadn't because what I got from his friends would be ten times worse than what I'd gotten from him." She looked into his eyes and swallowed hard. "He meant it, and I believed him."

"He couldn't seriously think you wouldn't say anything." Elliot remarked.

She started to rock forward and back slightly. "Then he said he'd had to do it. Had to make me realize that I had no place in his unit or in the Navy because I was weak. He said he had to teach me. To make me stronger."

Elliot scratched his head. He'd heard this sort of convoluted logic before. Rapists and abusers often rationalized their actions. She deserved it… She made him do it… She teased him... Whatever - it was all crap. Unfortunately, it was sometimes difficult to for victims to be convinced that it was crap. "He had no right to hurt you."

"He said if I deserved to be in the Navy, that I wouldn't say anything. That I'd get over it. That I'd have to prove myself to him – show him that I was strong. That I belonged. I tried to convince myself he was right. If I was strong enough, it wouldn't matter." She shook her head. "I tried. But it didn't work - I'm not strong enough." She choked a bit on a sob. "I really wanted to be."

"He raped you."

"If I was stronger, the fact that he had sex with me wouldn't matter."

"That's ridiculous. And he didn't have sex with you. He raped you." He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"But he was right. I'm weak. I couldn't forget it. It was always there, in my head. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't do my job anymore."

"That's a normal reaction."

"It's pathetic. I'm pathetic."

"Juliet, you are not pathetic. You were assaulted."

"He was right. He knew I was weak. He knew it." She shook her head. "Why didn't I know it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I couldn't tune it out. It was there, in my head, all the time. My work performance was crap. I was starting to get deserved reprimands in my jacket. I felt like I could hardly get out of bed in the mornings. I was drinking too much. I swear, I tried, but he was right."

"That you were weak?"

"Yes. One day I just couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't believe it myself, why I was letting it get to me… You know, there was a guy I trained with who I heard got third degree burns when a suicide bomber ran through a roadblock in Baghdad? I visited him once when I got back to the States. He still looks like hamburger - burnt to hell. And here I'm whining about what happened to me?" She shook her head, an expression of disgust on her face.

Elliot didn't know how he could convince her that she in no way deserved to be a victim. It'd probably take a good shrink, which she was unlikely to get from the Navy. He wondered if George Huang would talk to her.

"Like I said, I couldn't take it anymore, so I went to the base commander. To report him."

"Good."

"But he'd known I'd be weak. Rodacker'd known it. He had told Danner that I was unstable, that I was trying to blackmail him by threatening to lie and say he raped me. It was all there in my file before I even showed up in the base commander's office."

"That bastard." Stabler fumed. "You could have gone to the cops."

She shook her head. "No evidence. And crimes on a naval base are all handled internally."

"Violent crimes like rape and murder are subject to local police jurisdiction even if they occur on military bases," he informed her.

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Nobody would believe me anyway. Not after everything that he's done to ensure that."

But Elliot believed her. He'd listened to lots of victim statements in his day, and his instincts were rarely wrong. Still, she hadn't reported the assault at the time; her record would indicate that she was unstable. She might not be wrong in her belief that it would have been difficult to get someone to have believed her. He sat back. "So what's this attempted murder charge?"

"After I'd seen Danner, Rodacker sent for me – told me to report to his office. I didn't really want to go back there. I thought maybe there'd be some kind of mark of what he'd done, there in the office, but there wasn't. It looked like nothing had ever happened." She shrugged. "Rodacker told me he was charging me with conduct unbecoming. My career was over. If I was lucky, I'd just get a dishonorable discharge. If not, I might spend a few years in Leavenworth first." She shook her head. "Then he put his hand on my shoulder and told me that he could work it out if I'd… cooperate with him. He was behind me – I was sitting in the chair and he was behind me. He started to touch me. I didn't know what to do. His hands… touching me made me sick."

She rested her face in both palms. "I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed a paperweight off his desk and hit him with it. He fell and he was bleeding. I didn't try to kill him, though. I just didn't want..."

"You didn't want him to rape you again." He nodded. "You were defending yourself. So you ran?"

She nodded. "I went to the barracks and grabbed some of my stuff and left. I came to New York because my brother lives here. I thought maybe he could help me, but he's not home."

Stabler considered her story. He had no doubt she was telling the truth. Any evidence of her assault was long gone, though, and it would be her word against this Rodacker. And he was a commander of some elite unit, while her record had been poisoned. He didn't know what he could do for her, but he was sure going to try.


	4. Chapter 04

Chapter 4 

Elliot found Cragan watching through the two-way glass when he stepped out of the interrogation room. His boss still looked tired, but he had that wide-eyed look a fresh jolt of caffeine often gives.

"I believe her." Elliot said, watching for his captain's reaction.

Cragan nodded. "I do too, but that doesn't mean we can do anything about it. If she was raped, it occurred on the naval base."

"But even on military bases, violent crimes fall under police jurisdiction."

"We're not the local jurisdiction, Elliot. Last I heard, Virginia was even a different state."

"Virginia?"

"Yeah, that's where she was stationed. The naval station at Norfolk."

Elliot pondered this for a moment. "How'd they know she was here in New York? It's not like those MPs were just wandering around the city. They were sent."

Cragan nodded. "They knew she had a brother here and found out she bought a bus ticket." He pulled out a piece of paper with Juliet's photo on it.

Elliot looked at it. The smiling, well-groomed Naval officer in the photo didn't bear a great resemblance to the makeup-smeared, disheveled-looking woman sitting in the interview room. The woman in the picture looked strong, confident, and happy. Still, he could recall that underlying strength in eyes of the woman he'd met, even when she was drunk… even when she was exhausted… even when she was crying. Despite what she'd insisted about being weak, that strength was there. He looked closer at her photo. The wide-set dark eyes seemed to meet his.

"This," Cragan pointed to the paper, "is a bulletin issued to all precincts in the five Burroughs day before yesterday. The Judge Advocate General asked for NYPD assistance in locating Lieutenant Miller."

"I never heard anything about it."

"You know how many bulletins pass through the precinct every day? It wasn't an SVU case, so it didn't get further than a pile of paperwork to be filed in my office." Cragan shrugged. "Anyway, someone in computer crimes ran her financials for the Navy and found out Miller'd used an ATM in Manhattan, near where the brother lives. Looks like the Navy wasn't getting too much traction on the red tape trying to pull in a favor from warrants or fugitive retrieval to follow that up, so they sent up some MPs. Apparently they were checking the brother's neighborhood and they must have caught a break."

It sounded suspicious to Elliot. The MPs just stumbled across a dive bar where Miller just happened to be? It didn't make a lot of sense, but there wasn't much he could do about that at this point. Still, he made a mental note to check into it if he had the opportunity. Maybe Olivia had a contact in Computer Crimes who could shed some light on things.

"There's got to be something we can do, Cap."

"I don't know what. The most we can probably do is put her in jail for assault on you. How that's going to help her, I don't know." Cragan shook his head.

"It could buy some time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to put pressure on the Navy to investigate her CO for rape."

Cragan shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe the DA's office has got some contacts that could help with ensuring that Lieutenant Miller's rape charge gets investigated. Talk to Novak when she gets in. And see what she can do for us on the jurisdiction. We'll have a fight just to keep Miller here for your assault charge. The Navy wants her, and they want her bad, judging from the amount of phone calls I've had to field on this."

Elliot nodded. "Sorry Cap. But you agree, we don't just turn her over."

Cragan sighed and shrugged. "I agree, but One Police Plaza may not. I don't know how it'll all shake out, Elliot. Don't get your hopes up. There's a war on and the brass is not going to want to get into a pissing match with the military."

------------------------------

"You look like hell," Olivia said, sitting down across from him, sipping on some sort of coffee shop drink that smelled like heaven.

"Good morning to you, too," he replied, knowing that he did, indeed, look like hell. Hell, he felt like hell. He should grab a shower and pull out that fresh shirt he kept in his locker. The one he was wearing stunk from the bar and the evening's festivities.

Olivia eyed him. "That's what you were wearing yesterday. I'm assuming you didn't get lucky last night, so what's going on?"

Lucky was the last thing Stabler felt, but he joked, "Why would you assume I didn't get lucky?"

She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't be in this early for one thing, and you'd have a slightly different expression on your face." At his look, she continued. "We've been partners for a long time, El. I can read you like a book. So what's going on?"

The thought that Olivia could read his expressions that well was a bit disconcerting. He frowned, but then shrugged it off. "I caught a case last night. Never made it home."

"You didn't call me."

He shook his head. "It was late and I could handle it. Anyway, with the way things look, you'll be thanking me to have kept you out of it."

"What do you mean?"

He told her about Lieutenant Juliet Miller and his experiences the previous evening.

"You really should have gone to O'Malley's with us," Olivia said, waggling her finger at him.

He nodded and gave his partner a grim smile.

"Where's this Miller now?"

"In a holding cell downstairs." At the look his partner gave him, he cringed a bit. "I know. I don't like putting her in there, but she's under arrest for assault. I can't have her loose, especially not after she tried to run on me. I got her a separate cell; at least she's not in with the hookers vice rounded up last night. Really, she's OK. She's exhausted, but maybe she can get some sleep down there."

"So, what can I do?" Liv asked, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged. "Nothing. It's probably better if you stay out of it. Like Cragan said, my ass is probably gonna be in a sling."

"We're partners – your ass is my ass."

He grinned a little at the strange image that put into his head. "Yeah, I know, Liv. But it's no good both of us going down. I'm the one who had to stick his nose in."

"I'll run a computer background check on this guy – Rodacker – was that the name?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Stephen K. But -"

"Maybe he's got some priors," she said, interrupting his objections.

He knew from her expression that any further argument on his part would be wasted. And if he was honest with himself, he could use her help, although he felt guilty for dragging his partner into what was likely going to be a political minefield. "OK. I'll try Novak again."

Olivia looked at her watch. "I doubt she'll be in yet. Why don't you grab a shower and change?"

"Is that your way of telling me that I smell?" He chuckled.

She smiled, wrinkling her nose. "Excellent detective work, Elliot."

-----------------------------

The shower helped. At least it woke him up and soothed the knots in his shoulders. A shave, some deodorant, and a fresh shirt and he felt almost human again. A cup of hot coffee and a couple aspirin and he'd be ready to roll, he decided, examining himself in the mirror in his locker. Last night was feeling slightly surreal in the gray light of morning. Like maybe he'd dreamed it.

As he departed the locker room he knew immediately that it hadn't been a dream. Casey Novak, the ADA, was marching up the stairs, and she didn't look happy.

"You got my messages?" he asked as they both headed toward his desk.

"All four of them, Detective," she answered sternly. "And the two from my boss as well – his was prompted by calls from the Judge Advocate General of the United States Navy. How on earth did you land yourself in this mess?"

He went through most of the course of events again for her benefit, wishing that he'd have been able to grab that cup of coffee before she'd arrived.

Novak listened to the story, eyebrows raised. "So, you just had to go play knight in shining armor and get yourself neck deep in it?"

He winced. "Look, it's not a great situation. But Lieutenant Miller is a rape victim and she deserves justice. She's not going to get it without help. What can we do?"

"What makes you so certain she's telling the truth, Detective? Maybe she's just trying to keep out of trouble for being AWOL."

He shook his head. "I believe her. And in the Navy it's UA, not AWOL."

Novak rolled her eyes. "I don't care what the hell you call it, Detective. She's in trouble, so why wouldn't she lie to you? I know you've been in this job a long time, Elliot, but that doesn't mean you can't be deceived. A few drinks at a bar, a sob story from a pretty girl… Maybe she's playing you. I know that things have been kind of rough for you since you and -"

"That is out of line, counselor." He cut her off. His home life was none of her business. He squinted at the light-haired woman, trying to determine if she actually believed that he was some kind of pathetic emotional wreck from his recent family troubles. Granted, he didn't have nearly as close of a relationship with the ADA as he did with his partner, but he wondered what the hell kind of signals he'd been giving off to make the woman even consider that line of thought. His inward recriminations turned into outward anger. He leaned forward toward Novak. "That's crap and you know it."

"OK," Novak said, backing off. "But that doesn't change the fact that she's facing some serious charges. Could she be making up this rape allegation to take the heat off herself?"

"She's a war veteran – served in Iraq and Afghanistan. She's seen the very definition of heat. She's not going to go UA now for no reason. She was raped and they're trying to shut her up."

Novak's expression was unreadable. Elliot couldn't tell if she believed him or not.

Novak shrugged. "Well, in any case, we've got a jurisdictional hearing at one. That's all I can do right now anyway."

"That's fast." Elliot observed. He was not used to the wheels of justice turning particularly speedily in the New York courts. Often this was a matter that frustrated him greatly, yet today he found himself wishing for a little bit of the usual sluggishness of New York's legal system.

"Yeah, and that should tell you something, Detective. The Navy want this woman and they want her badly. Standing in the way could very well be hazardous to your health. If you want to risk your own neck, fine, but you're dragging me into this." Novak's expression was stern.

He hadn't realized that, but it was true. He needed Novak, but he hadn't considered the possible ramifications for her. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you into trouble." He sighed, and his voice softened. "I believe her, Casey." He held Novak's gaze with his own. "Lieutenant Miller was raped and now they want to railroad her for attempted murder and desertion. I can't just stand by and let it happen without at least trying to do something."

She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled loudly. "Well, we've managed to get a hearing at least, so we'll see."

"How's the hearing going to go?" he asked.

Novak shook her head. "If I had to guess, I'd say badly. A single assault charge probably isn't going to be enough to keep her here if the Navy really wants her. The judge will likely grant jurisdiction to them and ask the military to return her here to be tried on your assault after they're done with her. The most we'll be able to do is add jail time probably."

"Then what?" he asked. "Is there any kind of appeal or injunction we could file so we don't have to turn her over?"

Novak looked annoyed. "If we lose, then that's the end, Detective. Your Lieutenant Miller will be whisked off back to Virginia to be tried in a military court, and after that we'll all just have to go on with our real business of working SVU cases."

"This is our business – she's a rape victim. That's what we do here," he argued.

"It's not our business if she was raped in Virginia, Detective. We don't have the manpower or authority to investigate and prosecute crimes in other jurisdictions."

"But - "

"But, I'm going to do you a favor. I know some people out that way. I'm going to see if I can call in some favors and see if I can get the local authorities to look into her case. She'll have to meet with them when she gets back there, make a statement."

Stabler had shrugged, but then shook his head. "Once the Navy gets her - Casey, I was a Marine – I know how the military operates. It'll be all bureaucracy and red tape and we'll never hear another word except if she sends us a postcard from Leavenworth."

"If she wants to make a complaint to the civilian authorities, they won't be able to stop her."

Stabler stared at her, his eyes serious. "You don't know what it's like. Maybe if she's got publicity or someone high up on her side," he shook his head. "but if she's all on her own… with her record, they'll bury it. You've seen how college campuses do that sort of thing; well the military's ten times worse. You sign away damn near all your rights when you enlist, Casey. They've got you."

"I'm pretty sure you don't sign away your rights not to be raped, Elliot."

"Yeah, sure, but they can hush things up. The military hates civilian interference, especially if it makes people in their command structure look bad. They can restrict access to the crime scene and to personnel, even to the victim. They can restrict access to reports, records, all in the name of national security. They'll prosecute her themselves and if she's in military prison for attempted murder and desertion, how serious are the local cops going to take her allegations?"

Novak didn't respond.

"You know that the local DA isn't going to touch her case with a ten foot pole if the Navy isn't going to cooperate. Think about it, Casey." He leaned toward her, his face grim.

Novak was quiet for a moment, looking back at him. He could read the conflict on her face.

She finally responded. "We'll do what we can for her, but you're going to have to resolve yourself to the fact that we'll probably lose, Elliot. You can't save the world." Her voice was firm.

He knew he couldn't save the world, but right now he desperately wanted to save Lieutenant Miller. The problem was he couldn't quite see how.


	5. Chapter 05

Chapter 5 

"Your old Marine contacts turn anything up, Elliot?" Cragan asked.

He shook his head. He hadn't liked putting in the calls, but he'd done it. Unfortunately, most of his old buddies were long into civilian life and had, like him, tried to put the past behind them, so they were of little use in this endeavor. However, he'd talked to one former Marine friend who was currently a civilian contractor out at Quantico, who said he'd see what he could dig up on Rodacker, although it didn't seem likely to pan out. Maybe if he'd kept in touch with more of the lifers, but they'd never been the sorts he'd wanted to spend time with.

"So just the hearing then," Cragan said. "Who's the judge?"

"Mears," Elliot reported, having gotten the info from Novak.

"She's pretty fair," Cragan observed.

"Fair?" Munch asked. "Do you remember when she fined me for contempt?"

"You did berate her in open court, John," Cragan said with a sigh.

"I can't believe you'd defend her. She bought the defenses bullshit and threw out my evidence for no good reason."

"Uh huh," Cragan rolled his eyes. "And so you had to inform her that she was being manipulated by the political climate and tell her, if I recall correctly, 'to grow some balls.'"

"Was I wrong?" Munch asked, hands outstretched, an incredulous expression on his face.

"Got something," Olivia reported as she approached the knot of men.

Elliot, Munch, and Cragan broke off their conversation as the young woman approached.

"Yeah?" Elliot asked.

"Not much, but something. Rodacker used to live in Lakehurst New Jersey when he was assigned to a Naval Air Engineering station there. There's some kind of expunged record on him in that jurisdiction. No idea what it is, though."

"When from?" Munch asked.

"Three years ago. But there's nothing in the file – completely expunged. I can't say if it was a traffic ticket or a murder indictment. But a couple months afterward, Rodacker was transferred out of Lakehurst to Norfolk."

"Figures," Munch said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I've got a buddy at the Pentagon. I called him, and he gave me the low-down on this Rodacker guy. Sounds like our Commander Scumbag is made of Teflon."

"How so?"

"Elliot's vic was right – Rodacker's been able to prevent gender integration of his units for years, despite changing regulations and pressure from congress. He's got some high-up friends that watch his back and keep him out of trouble. There have been whispers here and there about him, but nothing official. Nothing negative in the file my friend had access to, anyway." Munch shook his head. "If Rodacker's got something expunged in Jersey, I'd bet the military's involved in hushing it up. If anyone could make something go away, it's those guys."

"You're not going to start talking about the black helicopters again, are you, John?" Olivia queried.

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean someone's _not_ out to get you, you know. Haven't you lived in this political climate these last few years, Olivia? Since nine-eleven we've got free-reign wiretapping, warrant-less searches, and people just disappearing – being held by the government without the right of habeus corpus, all in the name of national security."

"Come on, John," Olivia said.

Munch leaned back in his chair, an exasperated expression on his face. "I'm just telling it like it is. The military's having a hard time, bad press from the war, recruitment figures way down…" He waved his hands. "You think they're going to let one of their top guys get taken down? You know as well as I do that it wouldn't take much to bump off some local Jersey charge. Especially not in Lakehurst – that place relies on the base. They piss off the Navy and it's bye bye local economy down the crapper."

"Let's take a step back," Cragan said, holding up his hands. "This thing, whatever it is, was only three years ago. Somebody's going to remember. Who do we know over in Jersey?"

Munch rolled his eyes. "Nobody who won't be thrilled for a chance to hang up on me."

"Reach out to the Lakehurst cops. Expunged or not, if there was an arrest, we should be able to find out something."

Olivia nodded. "I'll call down there and see what I can dig up. And I know a cop who moved out to Trenton a while ago. It's a long shot, but I could see if he has any contacts out in Lakehurst."

"If you don't get any consideration from the locals, let me know. I'll put in a call," Cragan said.

"Thanks."

"If Novak loses the hearing this afternoon, it may not matter," Munch observed dryly.

"At least we'll have tried," Elliot said.

---------------------------

Elliot entered the holding cells, stopping at the last one. At least the place was quiet at the moment. Most of the hookers from the night before must have made bail or been shipped off to court. He found Juliet lying on the bench, an arm thrown over her eyes against the glare of the overhead fluorescents. She seemed to have heard him approach, because she sat up with a grunt. She looked as if she'd managed to get some sleep, although given the usual tumultuous state of the holding cells Elliot doubted it was much. At least the place didn't seem to smell that bad today. Must have been a quiet night for drunks, at least.

"I come bearing lunch," he said, smiling and holding up a paper bag.

She groaned. Her eyes were far less red and sunken, he noticed, although she was still alarmingly pale. Her face looked colorless in contrast with her dark hair. The harsh lighting wasn't helping any, casting her angular features in sharp relief.

"I know." He grimaced in commiseration. Last night's beer and whiskey combination hadn't exactly sat well with him. He wasn't hung over, but the alcohol combined with the lack of sleep and too many cups of acidic coffee made for a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You should try to eat. All that whiskey last night isn't doing you much good. You need something in your stomach."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised and spoke, her voice raspy. "I suspect anything in my stomach will be out again pronto."

Elliot signaled and a uniformed officer unlocked the door so he could enter. He sat down next to her on the bench, and started unpacking the food. It was takeout from the deli across the street. He handed her a bottle of water and half a sandwich. "Here. Eat." He put on his serious expression. "Go on."

After looking at the sandwich for a moment, she hesitantly took a small bite and then sipped some water.

"Is there someone I can call for you?" he asked, chewing on his own sandwich. The food, the first he'd had since the previous evening, was good and eased that discomfort in his stomach.

She shook her head.

"What about your brother?"

"I went to his apartment before, but he's out of town."

"I could find out where, maybe get a hold of him."

She shook her head quickly. "I don't want to get him messed up in this."

"But you came to New York to see him."

She shrugged. "I was scared and on the run. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'd rather keep him out of it."

"You need someone to support you," Elliot argued.

She shook her head. "It'd just put him in Rodacker's firing line. I don't need more people to get in trouble trying to help me." She broke off as if a sudden thought struck her. "Look, I'm sorry to have gotten you involved in all this."

"I'm a big boy. I can handle it." He noticed she wasn't chewing. "Go on, eat some more."

She rolled her eyes but she obediently took another bite of the turkey sandwich.

"After lunch, we've got a hearing at the courthouse."

She stopped chewing. "Already?"

He nodded. "Yeah, the Navy's really pushing things. They've filed for extradition already, and they must have put the heat on to get an appearance this quick. The hearing is to determine if we can keep you here for now, or if we have to turn you over. Our ADA is going to ask that we be allowed to keep you here pending prosecution of the assault charge."

She looked at him closely, and in the fluorescent glare, he saw something in her eyes… Some kind of resolution.

"You'll lose, won't you?" she asked slowly.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Even if we do, you can still file rape charges against Rodacker with the civilian authorities in Virginia. The Navy can't stop you from doing that."

She snorted.

"Our ADA says she's got some contacts in Virginia – she's going to see what she can do to help. In the meantime we're checking into Rodacker ourselves. Maybe we can stir up enough dirt to pressure the Navy to do some of their own investigating."

"To hear Danner tell it, the sun shines out of Rodacker's ass. They won't touch him."

"You'll have defense counsel for your Navy charges – he can argue self-defense on the attempted murder… Emotional distress on the desertion."

"I'll write from Leavenworth." She smiled in a resigned way.

It was a joke, but it wasn't really meant to be funny. He leaned over. "Hey, it's going to be OK. We're going to do everything we can."

She nodded. "Thanks. I know. You've been great. More than great."

Elliot looked around him. A long night spent in an interrogation room and a smelly holding cell could hardly be considered great, even with a turkey sandwich thrown in. He wished he could do more. It was in the hands of the lawyers now, and he didn't like that. Far too many times he'd done his job – brought in the criminal, only to have the legal system mess it up. Too many times the victims lost their chance at justice. In this case, not only would Juliet miss out on justice, but she'd be the one punished as well. She'd probably be serving years in prison while the man who raped her kept his freedom, his position, and his power. That disturbed Elliot. Unfortunately, stuff like that happened. He saw it frequently. Confessions or evidence tossed for pathetic procedural reasons, rapists getting acquitted, child molesters getting off on technicalities… It always sucked. This Miller case wasn't all that different. Except it was somehow. He didn't know exactly why. Maybe it was because she'd served, like he had, in the damn desert, with the heat and the bugs and seeing crap that nobody should see.

"To tell you the truth, I never expected the MPs to get me." She looked at him, interrupting his thoughts. "I figured one of Rodacker's goons would off me before the Navy caught up." Her smile was grim. "I guess even if I end up in Leavenworth, at least I'll be alive, so that's something."

He looked into her eyes. She really was scared of Rodacker killing her. That didn't surprise him per se, the man had thrown her down on the floor of his office and brutally raped her. But was Rodacker the kind of man who would have someone killed? To hire someone to take out a woman just to shut her up? Normally Elliot would just slough this sort of thing off to the trauma of a victim being afraid of her attacker. But Juliet looked dead serious, and even though she'd been a victim, she was well beyond that terrified, traumatized, post-event shock.

"Hey, you can't give up," he said, reaching over and resting a hand on her forearm. It was not something he normally did – initiating touching a rape victim. You never knew how they'd react. He wasn't sure why he'd done it. But she didn't pull away... Didn't flinch. He felt it - she trusted him. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. The knowledge that she trusted him after their brief but eventful contact felt strangely wonderful. On the other hand, that same trust and faith made him nervous. It bore a strong burden that he didn't know how he could fulfill.

She turned toward him and shook her head determinedly. "Oh, I'm not going to go down without a fight, Elliot. I'm going to tell anyone who'll listen about what he did to me. They may be sorry they wanted me back for all the trouble I'm going to be."

He looked at her again. She looked strong and determined. The fear he had seen in her eyes had been dampened by resolve. Her eyes had that sparkle that he'd seen in her military dress-photo from the printed bulletin. He realized his hand was still resting on her arm, and he was close enough to see the tiny flecks of hazel in her dark pupils. That closeness felt comfortable. Too comfortable…Steeling himself, he lifted his hand away and leaned back.

"Hey, you haven't finished your sandwich," he observed. "I want to see some chewing."


	6. Chapter 06

Chapter 6 

Elliot took a place in the courtroom behind Novak's table. He didn't know how this proceeding would work – didn't know if he'd be asked to testify, but he was ready. Juliet Miller had been brought in from the precinct and sat handcuffed in the empty jury box with a uniformed police officer on either side. She still looked a mess. He wished he'd at least thought to have found her a hairbrush. Her disheveled appearance and dark shadows under her eyes weren't going to win her any points with the judge.

"Who's that," he asked Novak, gesturing toward a tall blond man in a white Navy dress uniform.

"That," she said, "is the thorn in your side, Detective. Lieutenant Commander Jake Makinsaw from the Judge Advocate General's office. He's in charge of the case against Miller. He's the one who had her traced her to New York and sent the MPs up for her."

"You know anything else about him?" he asked, eyeing the guy.

"I called a lawyer friend I know who got through law school on the Navy's dime. Served four years in the Judge Advocate General for the privilege. He said Makinsaw's tough. And he doesn't give up easily. The phrase he used was 'a dog with a bone.'"

"Great." Elliot perused the man. Tall and fit, he carried off Navy whites pretty well. As a former Marine, Elliot had always wondered why the Navy kept insisting on those damned white summer dress uniforms. They must be hell on the dry cleaning bills, he thought, wondering just how pristine Makinsaw's uniform would look after a day in the city.

Judge Mears entered the courtroom, and they all rose. Mears, Elliot knew from experience, was a stickler for the law. What he didn't know was if this trait would be to their advantage or disadvantage in this mess.

"Miss Novak," Mears started, flipping through the papers she'd been presented with, reading glasses perched low on her nose. "Do the people intend to fight the extradition of Juliet Miller?"

"We do, your honor."

"Your honor," the white clad Naval officer interjected, "under Article four, section two, of the US constitution, a person charged in any state with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from justice, and be found in another state, shall on demand of the executive authority of the state from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the state having jurisdiction of the crime."

"I'm sure we all know the constitution, your honor," Casey said, her voice level. "But at the moment, the DA's office is preparing our own charges against the defendant. We're not willing to extradite at this time."

The judge flipped through the pages some more. "Do the people intend to declare jurisdiction with an assault charge in the face of these other charges?"

"We do, your honor. Assault on a police officer is a very serious charge. We intend to prosecute Lieutenant Miller for her crime here in New York."

"Your honor," the JAG officer said, "the Judge Advocate General is merely asking for the right to complete their case against Lieutenant Miller first. The crimes were committed first, and our charges were brought prior to this particular alleged assault. While we agree that assault on a police officer is a serious matter, desertion and attempted murder should take precedence."

"Your honor," Novak said, "the comparable seriousness of felony charges is legally irrelevant in this matter. The question before us is one of jurisdiction. Detective Stabler of the NYPD arrested Lieutenant Miller for assault on a police officer in the jurisdiction of New York. We've got her; we intend to keep her until our prosecution is complete."

The judge nodded. "She's right, Commander Makinsaw."

Makinsaw, Elliot noted, did not look happy.

The judge continued. "In this case possession of the defendant seems to be nine-tenths of the law. I'm not sure I have the right to force the DA's office to give her up, even if I were to agree with your argument that your felonies are more deserving of immediate prosecution."

"Your honor," Makinsaw said, "We will agree to return the defendant here for trial once our case is complete." He stepped forward from the table. "Military courts martial, as you may be aware, are normally completed in a very short time-frame – far shorter than trials in our overburdened civilian courts. It would be extremely expedient for you to let us pursue our case first. It's likely we can have our case wrapped up by the time yours would even make it to trial."

"That's certainly true. Even if the District Attorney was ready today, the soonest we could get her on the court's calendar would probably be - " the judge paused and looked at her court clerk.

"At least twelve weeks," the clerk said.

"Your honor, we believe we could proceed with our case immediately, leaving the defendant available to be tried by the state of New York at the court's convenience. I would like to request -"

"Your honor, the expediency of the court systems is not a legal argument in this matter," Novak interrupted Makinsaw. "The fact that another jurisdiction can fit in a prosecution is moot. We still claim jurisdiction over the defendant and feel that extradition at this time would infringe upon our own case."

"Your honor, you're going to delay the courts martial process for three to six months. The defendant has a right to a speedy trial."

Novak stepped forward. "As your honor is well aware, a three month timeframe is well within the felony speedy trial rights of New York."

The judge looked back over to Makinsaw. "She's right, Commander. And I believe your own Rule for Courts-Martial allows for one hundred and twenty days upon preferral of charges."

Elliot grinned at the look of disappointment on Makinsaw's face.

"Your honor is well versed in the rules of courts-martial," the Navy man said.

Too well versed for Makinsaw's liking, Elliot was certain.

"But if I understand correctly, your honor, the New York case is straight-forward and unlikely to be harmed by any unlikely delay caused by our own prosecution. Additionally, your honor is aware that US military resources are currently in demand in other areas of the world," Makinsaw stated. "All parties involved in Lieutenant Miller's case are stationed here in the United States at this time. If there is any delay in prosecution of our case, staff involved may be deployed, causing great difficulties and risk to our case."

"Staffing activities have no bearing on this jurisdictional matter and should not be considered, your honor," Novak interjected.

"We're at war, Miss Novak," Makinsaw said hotly. "I would hardly call troop deployment 'staffing activities.' In the interests of National Security, the United States armed forces cannot be held hostage to one junior officer's crimes."

"Your honor, Mr. Makinsaw's argument is spurious and incendiary and has no legal standing in this matter."

"That's 'Commander Makinsaw,' Miss Novak," Makinsaw said, emphasizing his rank. "I resent your insinuation that I'd use the war as merely an expedience. People are dying. And as much as you may not like it, when she joined the Navy, Lieutenant Miller agreed to submit to Naval rules, regulations, and jurisdiction."

Novak's voice rose. "And I resent that you think you can come in here and bully us by throwing around phrases like 'National Security.' Last I heard, Juliet Miller is a United States citizen and eligible for constitutional provisions regardless of any agreement she signed with the Navy. By committing a crime here in New York State, she falls under this jurisdiction, and we intend to retain our rights to prosecute."

"Settle down, both of you," the judge said. "I'm going to have to take this under advisement. We'll recess until four o'clock."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shortly before four, Elliot made his way back to the courthouse. When he arrived, a court officer waved him into an adjoining conference room. Inside were ADA Casey Novak and her new boss, Donovan Galloway. Elliot had met the Interim Bureau Chief only briefly, shortly after Elizabeth Donnally had received her appointment to the bench. Elliot remembered not particularly liking Galloway during that brief meeting – he'd seemed a small man, and not just in stature. But regardless of what the new Bureau Chief was like, it certainly wasn't a good sign to see him here. He wondered what was going on.

The conversation between Novak and Galloway looked heated, and the two broke off as Elliot entered the small windowless room.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing much," Novak said, her voice sarcastic. "We're just going to give in and let the military take her."

"Watch your tone, Miss Novak," Galloway warned.

"What?" Stabler asked. "The judge isn't back yet is she?"

"No." Novak gestured at Galloway. "He wants me to drop the case. Even if the judge decides in our favor, we're going to turn over Miller." She tossed the yellow pad she was holding on the table and folded her arms.

"What the hell?"

"I don't think you appreciate the position I am in, Detective. Nor you, Miss Novak. It is not this office's business to bring this type of case. You handle Special Victims."

"She was raped. You know that." Elliot said heatedly.

"I thought the charge was assault on a police officer, Detective." Galloway held up the file. "No sexual assault was committed in our jurisdiction. We have no ability to bring charges for a crime, that even if it did occur, did not occur within this jurisdiction. What you are trying to do here is not within the purview of my office."

Stabler sighed. "She needs help, Galloway. Miller's a victim and she needs justice. We're just trying to get it for her."

"I understand, Detective. I do. But this is not an area in which we are able to help. We've got to turn her over to the Navy."

"You've been getting more phone calls, haven't you?" he asked, and then continued as the expression on the man's face indicated that he had hit home. "Doesn't it make you wonder why the military has such a hard on for this case? Why they're riding your ass?"

"Watch your language, Detective," Galloway warned.

"You're the Bureau Chief, you don't have to kowtow to those military bastards."

"Yes, I am the Bureau Chief. That means it is my responsibility to prosecute charges. In this case, there are no charges to prosecute. That's about as simple as I can make it for you, Detective. Do you need me to draw you a picture?"

Galloway's tone shut Elliot up for a moment, seething at effectively being called a simpleton by this jumped up little paper-pusher. He took a breath and looked hard at Galloway. "So you're just going to cave?"

"I'm going to do my job. You should go do yours, Detective. Investigate some crimes that we can actually prosecute. Unfortunately, I'm certain there are many people within your actual jurisdiction that can use your help."

Elliot clenched his jaw to avoid saying something that he'd later regret and turned to leave with what he hoped was a "fuck you" look. He detoured into the men's room, found it vacant, and debated slamming his fist into the stall door in frustration. He'd thought the days of 'angry cop' Elliot beating up walls was over, but this case gnawed at him. He supposed it was because he was so close to powerless – impotent, basically. He was an SVU detective, and she was by definition, a 'special victim,' and yet he couldn't help her. He couldn't put away the bastard who raped her… He couldn't save her from being sent to prison on trumped up charges…

He ran some water and splashed a bit on his face, hoping to cool himself off.

The door opened and from his peripheral vision, Elliot saw a flash of white. It was the officer from the Judge Advocate General – Makinsaw. The blond man used the urinal.

"Hey," Makinsaw said, acknowledging Stabler.

"Hey."

Both men were silent. Elliot took a paper towel from the dispenser and dried his face and hands with it as Makinsaw approached the sink.

"You're Stabler, right?" Makinsaw asked, soaping his hands with what Elliot thought looked like military precision.

"Yeah."

Makinsaw rinsed his hands and started to dry them. "Lieutenant Commander Jack Makinsaw." He offered a hand to Elliot, who didn't reach out to take it.

"OK," the man said, pulling his hand back. "I understand I've got you to thank for this mess."

Elliot didn't respond.

"You should have handed her over to the MPs last night, you know. Would have been a lot easier."

Elliot turned toward the door. He didn't need this.

"Look-"

Makinsaw stepped toward Stabler, reached out and grasped his shoulder from behind. Elliot stopped, but didn't turn around.

"You're going to lose this one, but if you give me a report of your assault, I can add that charge to Miller's courts-martial. We've already got her for conduct unbecoming, of course, but assault on a civilian could add a couple years to her sentence."

In a moment, Elliot whirled a hundred and eighty degrees and pushed the white-clad man up against the bathroom wall. He held the uniform shirtfront in one hand, his arm pressed forward against the man's chest, holding him there. He didn't strike him, although he surely wanted to. He leaned in and in a low voice said, "You can go to hell."

Makinsaw made no attempt to fight back. His face was smug. "Take it easy, Detective." The man's voice was calm. "I think this could be considered assault. I know you don't want to have another complaint on your record."

The wording edged its way into Elliot's heated brain. 'Another complaint' – the bastard had been reading his jacket. "If I was going to assault you, you sure as hell would know it, Makinsaw." He pushed the man hard against the wall and then released him.

Makinsaw stood where he was, straightening his uniform blouse. "Look, Detective, I'm just doing my job." He smiled, shaking his head.

"If you were doing your job, you'd be investigating Rodacker for rape, not chasing Juliet Miller for some trumped up charges based on lies."

Makinsaw considered this a moment. "You should take care what allegations you throw around, Detective. You may not be aware, but rape is an offense that under military law can be charged as a capital crime."

Elliot, in fact, did not know this. He suddenly had a strange wish for that little caveat of military law to make it into civilian life. The death penalty for rape… How many times had he caught a rapist only to see the guy get eight years, eligible for parole in five? He wondered if military cases suffered, as his did, from being pled down and soft judges and juries. It was one thing for an offense to be a capital offense, and another for that severe a penalty to actually be imposed. In New York, first-degree rape had a maximum sentence of six to twenty-five years. But he could probably count on one hand the number of rape cases where the perp actually received twenty-five years.

"Yeah, well, Rodacker would deserve it. He raped a woman under his command. He's lower than scum."

"Is that what she told you, Stabler? Because I've seen her record. She's a fuck-up and a liar. She's trying to take down one of the Navy's finest officers."

Elliot snorted. "If Rodacker's the finest the Navy's got to offer, then I'm surely afraid for the safety of the nation."

"I understand you'd maybe not recall your own military service fondly, Stabler, but you should know that messing with us is not in your best interest."

The comment burned in him. By what right did this lawyer bring up his own military service. That was below the belt, and he would not forget it anytime soon. He took a step toward the Naval officer. "You want to know what I recall most about my service, Makinsaw?" Elliot squinted at the man whose blue eyes held his steadily. "Pansy-ass officers like you who sit back and let their subordinates get screwed over."

He stepped back, swiveled, and without looking back, yanked open the bathroom door with a clang.


	7. Chapter 07

Chapter 7 

Back in the courtroom, Elliot watched the JAG officer return, joined shortly by the two MPs he recognized from the previous night. It looked to him like they were expecting to take Miller there and then. Makinsaw must know that the DA's office was going to cave. The smug look on the man's pale face burned into him.

Miller was brought back to her seat, the two police officers still flanking, her hands cuffed in front of her. Elliot went over and perched on the railing in front of the jury box.

"How are you doing?" It looked like she'd been able to brush her hair. At least she looked less disheveled than before.

She shrugged, looking over to where Galloway and Novak were standing. "What's going on? Who's that?"

"That's Miss Novak's boss. He's here to, uh, help…" Elliot cringed a bit because he knew it was a lie and he didn't know why he was lying. She would obviously find out soon, and it would be better for her to hear it from him now.

"Uh, huh. He looks like a helpful guy." Her voice indicated she meant the opposite.

"Yeah, well… It's not looking good. The DA's office is under a lot of pressure. I'm sorry." He shook his head.

She nodded, looking up at him for a long moment. "It's OK," she said simply.

It sure as hell wasn't OK. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot less OK than what he felt right here and right now.

At his expression she added, "Really. It's all right. I know you did everything you could. Thank you for that."

The thank you from her burned into his gut. He blinked, surprised. He'd received thank you's from victims before, but generally after the criminal was caught or the trial was won. He knew that they were about to lose today… That Juliet was going to be turned over to the very system that had betrayed her… And yet somehow she still thanked him. Astonishing. He saw by her face that her words were more than simple platitudes. She wore an expression of calmness and acceptance, and her gaze held his a long time.

"Its not over. No matter what happens here. Remember that." He spoke softly, leaning close.

The court clerk called everyone to order. Stabler hurried back to his seat just in time to stand for the judge's entrance. Novak and Galloway waited at their table, and Novak wasn't looking happy.

"Your honor, may I address the bench?" Galloway asked, standing, straightening his suit coat and stepping from behind the table.

"You are out of order, counsel. I'm about to make my ruling."

"What I have to say may negate the need for a ruling."

The judge cocked her head, a bemused expression on her face. "I wondered why the Bureau Chief would be attending a simple jurisdictional ruling. By all means then, go ahead."

"Your honor, the people would like to withdraw their objection in this matter. We are amenable to turning the defendant over to military jurisdiction at this time."

The words were spoken. It was done. There was no going back, Elliot thought, looking from the small pompous man to Juliet to the judge.

"That's a surprise," the judge observed. "Are the people certain they wish to withdraw their objection?"

"We are, your honor."

Elliot observed Casey Novak as she sat still and silently while her boss addressed the court. She was as angry as he was, if her expression was any indication. Galloway had no right to throw in the towel like this. This was his victim, his case. So what if the military didn't like it? But the DA's office was just going to bend over and take it. Galloway was the Navy's bitch.

"Then this case is completed without need for a ruling," the judge announced. "The parties have come to agreement. The People will turn over Lieutenant Juliet Miller to the jurisdiction of the United States Navy." She stood to leave.

"Your honor!" Elliot jumped up, unable to stop himself.

"Detective, you are out of order. You have no standing to address the court at this time."

"Please, your honor," he said hurriedly, "I need more time to investigate before the defendant is turned over."

"Investigate what, Detective? If I understand correctly, the defendant was being charged with assaulting you. What is there to investigate?"

"Your honor, Lieutenant Miller was raped by her commanding officer. The military is unwilling to investigate the matter. They want to put her in prison for defending herself against her attacker." The words spilled from him and there was no stopping them, even though he knew it would do no good.

The courtroom exploded with shouts from both attorneys' tables.

"Settle down!" The judge banged her gavel. "I will have order here!"

The room quieted.

"Chambers, all of you."

------------------------------------

"What the hell is going on?" Mears demanded as the three attorneys and Detective Stabler entered her chambers. "One at a time! You first, Detective, since it seems like you have something to say."

He took a breath to keep his emotions in check. "Your honor, Lieutenant Juliet Miller was raped by her commanding officer, Commander Stephen Rodacker. He conspired to force her silence and discredited her military record so that if she did report him, she wouldn't be believed."

"Is this Rodacker the one who she's accused of trying to kill?" Mears asked.

"Yes, your honor. She was only defending herself against further assault from her rapist."

"Why didn't she report this assault to the authorities?"

"She did, your honor, to her base commander, but she wasn't believed. Rodacker had poisoned her record, and the Navy refuses to investigate. She had no choice but to flee the military's jurisdiction or he would have assaulted her again. She hit her commanding officer in self-defense. She did not try to murder him, but to escape from further assault."

The Navy lawyer jumped in. "Lieutenant Miller is a disgruntled junior officer who was stirring up trouble over bad performance reviews. Her record clearly shows a pattern of lying, deception, and threats. She attempted to murder Commander Rodacker when he wouldn't give in to her blackmail."

"That's crap and you know it," Elliot said, turning to glare at the Naval JAG.

The judge's gaze swiveled from Elliot to the ADA. "Miss Novak, it seems like your assault charge is some kind of sham to keep the defendant from Naval jurisdiction. Is that the case?" Her voice was stern.

"Your honor," Novak said, swallowing. "The defendant did assault Detective Stabler, and he has pressed charges. As the ADA, it is my duty to pursue the case."

The judge looked at her closely, and then shifted her gaze to each of the room's occupants in sequence. Finally, she said, "Come on, Detective. I'm sure you've taken worse and not filed assault charges. This is just a coincidence then? This whole rape allegation?"

"Your honor, Lieutenant Miller deserves justice. I just want to see that she gets it."

"Your honor, even if the Lieutenant was assaulted, that act would have taken place on a military base in another state. Detective Stabler has no authority in that matter." Makinsaw looked at Stabler, then back at the judge. "The NYPD and the ADA of New York are conspiring to prevent proper adjudication of offenses in a military court under military authority."

"That's crap," Elliot said. "It's the military that's conspiring to make this all go away. Lieutenant Miller is going to be imprisoned on some trumped up charge while the man who raped her remains free."

"I assure you all that Lieutenant Miller will receive defense counsel and a fair trial," Makinsaw said.

Stabler snorted.

"Detective, mind your manners," the judge ordered. She was silent then for a moment, her lips pursed. "Mister Galloway has made my decision moot. The DA's office has relinquished jurisdiction of the defendant to military authorities. That case is completed."

Stabler fumed silently.

The judge continued. "Furthermore, there is no standing in this court to pursue a case against the defendant's commanding officer for an alleged crime that was not even committed in this jurisdiction. That argument is not relevant to these proceedings, which are already decided, nor may the matter be brought forth in this court. The Lieutenant will be turned over to Commander Makinsaw."

"That's bullshit! Your honor, you can't do this!"

"Detective Stabler, I realize that you have good intentions in this matter. Although perhaps it should, the court will not find you in contempt for your conduct in this matter. But you will release the defendant into the custody of Naval authorities. Commander Makinsaw has given us his word that she will receive defense counsel and a fair trial by the military court." She held up her hand as Elliot took a breath to speak. "If there is justification for her actions or charges to be brought against other parties, that will be handled by the appropriate authorities in the appropriate jurisdiction and not here today."

At a warning glare from Judge Mears, he held his tongue. He wanted to say many things, however, none of them would do any good, and he might find himself on the receiving end of another contempt citation. Not that he'd necessarily mind a short stretch in a cell. But he wanted to see Juliet again before…

"Thank you, your honor," Makinsaw said, smiling.

"Now all of you, get out!" The judge waved them away.

--------------------------

"That's crap!" he fumed at Galloway and Novak as they left the judge's chambers.

Galloway rounded on him, his voice low. "Detective, you will not disrespect me or these proceedings again. This court is not your personal playground. Now I suggest you suck it up." The last three words were enunciated slowly and clearly.

"Who got to you?" Elliot asked, his voice level, as he leaned in close to the shorter man.

"Nobody 'got to me,' Detective. I'm doing my job. No go do yours, and turn over Lieutenant Miller." With that, Galloway stomped off.

Novak reached out and touched his arm. "Elliot, it's over," she said gently. "You've done everything you can. Miller is going to have defense counsel on her case, and she can file charges in the proper jurisdiction on her own assault. I'm sorry. That's all we can do."

--------------------------------

"I'm sorry," he said to Juliet, meaning it. He'd said those words a lot in his job because there was a lot to feel sorry about when working in SVU. But he was damned sick of apologizing for the system. "We've got to turn you over."

She nodded and closed her eyes tiredly, leaning back in the hard wooden jury box chair.

"Hey, I'm going to find out the name of your military defense counsel and send him your statement, my interview notes and everything we've been able to dig up on Rodacker. I know it's not much…"

Her hands, still cuffed in front of her, reached out. She put her hand over his, which was resting on the railing in front of them. "It's OK, Elliot. I told you that. Really."

She looked up at him and he could see those hazel flecks again, boring into him. He knew he should back off, that he was too close, but somehow he didn't want to.

"Thank you for everything you've done. You didn't have to do any of it." She shook her head. "I'm just sorry for getting you into trouble."

He flipped his hand over to squeeze hers briefly, and then released it quickly as the MPs crossed the room toward them.

"It's time." Her face was calm, accepting.

"Yeah." He felt in his gut - that this was very wrong, but he had no choice. He put on a brave face for Juliet, but he suspected he wasn't able to hide his feelings very well. That he had to turn her over like this… That she was to be prosecuted for crimes she wasn't responsible for… Well, sometimes the world just downright sucked.

She stood up and the uniformed officer removed her handcuffs, which were replaced quickly by the MP variety.

He trailed along after the little group as they led her downstairs and out of the courthouse building. A four-door black sedan with government plates was already waiting on the street.

Makinsaw turned back and gave him a smile.

Smug bastard, Elliot thought.

From the shadow of the building's portico, he stopped and watched as the MPs led Miller to the car. Somehow it felt easier to wait here than to follow them to the street.

Something glinted from across the way and as Elliot turned to look, he caught a glimpse of movement – a face in a window - and a gunshot rang out. Juliet, Makinsaw, and the two MPs hit the ground. Elliot ducked down as well, his back against a marble column, service pistol drawn and seeking in what he was certain was the direction of the shot. He could find no target, however. He looked down at the car to see if anyone was injured. One of the MPs was crouched over Juliet, his hands on her chest. Elliot saw the blood.

"Damn it!" He raced down the stairs, crouched low, careful to keep his gun at the ready, and threw himself into the cover of the sedan. "How is she?" he called over.

"Did you see where the shot came from?" one of the MPs asked, his own sidearm drawn.

"Across the street, from a window. Not sure which. How's Juliet?"

The voice of the other Marine sounded. "I don't know. I'm putting pressure on, but she's putting out a lot of blood. We need a medic, fast."

Someone must have called an ambulance by now, Elliot thought, at least he hoped so, but he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. After he made the call, he looked back across the street carefully. Nothing. No movement from the windows. He waited, scanning the scene closely.

Several uniformed cops from the courthouse had begun making their way toward them. There were no further shots.

"I think we're clear." Elliot stood up, keeping his weapon ready.

He moved to where Juliet lay on the sidewalk. Her eyes were closed, but he could see she was still breathing. That had to be a good sign. The MP had both hands over the wound, applying pressure. Elliot felt for a pulse. It was fast and not particularly strong, but it was there.

"Juliet, stay with us."

She didn't respond.

He turned to look at the MP, the one who wasn't attending to her wound. "Uncuff her."

"Uh -"

"She's got a chest wound, she's not going to run. He'll be able to get better pressure on the wound, and the paramedics will need her arms free to work on her. Uncuff her." He looked up. "Where's the ambulance?" he shouted at one of the uniformed cops who shrugged and keyed his radio.

He touched Juliet's face. "Come on, Juliet. Wake up. It's Elliot. Talk to me."

Her eyes flickered and she groaned, nearly inaudibly.

"Hey, Juliet" Elliot said. "Can you hear me?"

She grunted in assent, eyelids flickering again. She shifted slightly, lifting a freed hand toward the point of pain. Elliot caught hold of her hand, keeping it carefully away from the wound. It looked as if the bleeding was slowing under the MP's palms, but he knew it was important that pressure be maintained.

"Juliet, try not to move around too much. You've been shot. We're going to get you to the hospital – you're going to be OK." He heard the siren from the approaching ambulance. Finally. "Hear that? That's the ambulance. You're going to be fine." Maybe if he said it enough, it would turn out to be true.

"Shot?" Her voice was so quiet, Elliot could hardly hear her over the din of the people crowding around the sidewalk. He shouted at one the uniforms to control the scene.

"Just hold on," he said to Juliet, still holding her hand in his.

The ambulance pulled up and two paramedics jumped out and took over, nudging Elliot and the MPs aside. He laid her hand down gently and stepped back.

"How is she?" Elliot demanded after a few moments.

"She's stable for now, but we'd better roll fast. She's lost a lot of blood." The two men started packing Juliet onto the gurney.

A lot of blood – yeah, the sidewalk was stained with it in a wide swath. He took in the scene with an experienced eye. It looked like she'd been hit about six or seven feet from the car… Fallen there, and then the MP had dragged her closer to the car for cover. He could see the drag marks in the blood. The first of the blood was starting to brown, drying from the air and sun and being absorbed into the thirsty cement.

The paramedics raised the gurney and rolled her toward the ambulance. Elliot stepped forward. "I'll ride with you."

"No, she's my prisoner, Detective."

He turned to see the JAG lawyer, Makinsaw, his Navy whites somehow still pristine. The man had a conspicuous lack of blood soiling his uniform, Elliot noticed, observing that he and both Marine MPs were well marked with Juliet's blood. Makinsaw, however, looked the same as he had in the courtroom. Even the dive for cover hadn't so much as scuffed the knees of his white trousers. Elliot shook his head. The bastard hadn't even tried to help her. Would have probably let her bleed to death on the street…

He was just imagining how good it would feel to punch Makinsaw in his smug face when he happened to scan the crowd that had gathered across the street. Suddenly he felt a jolt of recognition. One of the civilians – a man with longish hair and a goatee – looked familiar to him. Why did he know that face? The man turned and walked away. Elliot was sure he recognized him from somewhere. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling, like it often did when he was on a case. Damn it, he thought suddenly, it's the guy from the bar. That can't be a coincidence.

Makinsaw would have to wait. Elliot crossed the street and hurried after the guy.

The man went into the subway entrance down the block. Elliot pushed his way past slow-moving pedestrians to follow, taking the stairs three at a time. At the bottom, however, the train was moving away, the platform empty, no sign of the goateed man. "Damn it," he muttered.

------------------

"She's in surgery now," he told Olivia as she sat down beside him in the hospital waiting area.

"How'd this happen?" she asked.

"She said she thought Rodacker might try to have her killed." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. The adrenalin from the shooting was wearing off, and with no sleep the night before, the exhaustion was coming back hard. "Damn it, Liv. I saw the guy… Last night at the bar – he was hunting her, trying to get a chance at her. I thought he looked suspicious at the time but I didn't do squat."

"Elliot, you couldn't have known."

He shrugged.

"We got anything on the shooting?" he asked.

"One witness saw our guy leaving the building. Said he was carrying a black satchel."

Elliot thought hard, then shook his head. "He didn't have a bag when I followed him. He must have ditched it. Have the uniforms search the building and the route he took. That it?"

She leaned back. "I'm afraid so."

He sighed.

"We should get back to the squad. You can give a description to the sketch artist."

He nodded. "I want to see if she's gonna make it."

"Well, here's the doc," Olivia said, nodding as a tall woman in blue scrubs came in.

"Detectives?" she asked.

"How is she?" Elliot inquired.

"Very lucky. She took the round to the chest and there was some damage. The round passed at an angle," she moved her hand across her own body to indicate the bullet's traverse, "into the center chest through the diaphragm, just below the heart and down through the left upper abdomen and out. We were able to repair her lower lung and there was some damage to her liver as well. No other organs were hit. It was touch-and-go for a while, but she seemed to come through the surgery pretty well, considering. Her vitals are stable."

"Can I see her?"

"She's unconscious. Probably will be for a while. Why don't you come back tomorrow?"

Elliot nodded. He felt like he needed to see her, but he couldn't insist. Miller was just out of surgery, her body carved through by the violence of a bullet. Maybe it was enough to know that she was probably going to survive. He stood up. "I'm going to send officers to guard her room, Doctor. I want the names of all personnel who will have access to her so that we can run full background checks. Nobody gets in or out of there without authority. Someone tried to murder this woman and I don't intend to give him another chance."


	8. Chapter 08

Chapter 8 

"No, no, no," Elliot said emphatically, pacing back and forth in the limited space of the Captain's small office. "The shooting occurred in our jurisdiction. She's the victim and a material witness. This is our case, damn it."

"My Detective is correct." Cragan said, turning to Makinsaw. "Commander, regardless of the court decision yesterday, I think you'll agree that circumstances have changed. This was an attempted homicide in New York City – on the courthouse steps, no less. There is no jurisdictional argument here."

"Like I said, it's our case." Elliot glared hard at the white-clad Navy lawyer.

"Since our detective was involved, and since there is substantial reason to believe that the crime is related to the victim's rape allegations, One Police Plaza has given us the case."

"The judge gave us the right to pursue our charges first," Makinsaw retorted.

"That was before she was shot down on the courthouse steps of our city." Cragan argued. "And anyway, she's going to be in the hospital for a while, so your case is on hold regardless."

"She should be transferred to Bathesda. She's Navy personnel."

"No way!" Elliot said, striding forward. "She stays here, under our protection." He noticed that Makinsaw had lost some of the smugness he'd had earlier.

"We can offer her protection." Makinsaw said.

"Look what happened to her when she was in your custody for five minutes yesterday," Elliot argued. "Look, Commander," he spat the title as if it burned his lips, "somebody wants that woman shut up, and they want it bad. Hmmm, let's think. Who might want that? Maybe someone who's going to be investigated for rape if she talks? Someone who stands to lose everything if her allegations are believed? Someone with a lot of friends in high places?"

"The Judge Advocate General will investigate Lieutenant Miller's allegations thoroughly, I assure you."

"Sure, right after you put her in prison. If she even makes it that far. Someone shot her today, or didn't you notice?" He glared at Makinsaw.

"Settle down, both of you," Cragan interceded. "The doctors wouldn't release Miller for transportation in the next few days anyway, so she stays at St. Luke's. We'll have officers standing watch twenty-four seven. Custodial arguments can be readdressed if or when she recovers. In the meantime, we've got jurisdiction on the shooting case."

Stabler grinned smugly.

"However," Cragan continued, clearing his throat, hesitating for a moment. "One Police Plaza understands the Navy's interest in this case. The victim was in Naval custody and is charged with serious offenses. Because of this, I am offering to allow the Navy to have a presence in the investigation."

Elliot's jaw dropped open, knowing what was coming.

"Gentlemen," the Captain looked at them both in turn. "You will work together on this."

"He's not a cop, he's a lawyer," Elliot argued.

"Yes, and he's going to be involved in the investigation, Detective."

He rolled his eyes. "But Cap - "

"You'll work with him. That's the end of it. You're both dismissed."

Stabler hung back at the doorway after Makinsaw exited. As he opened his mouth to argue, his eyes met those of his Captain, and the man didn't look away. He sort of expected to be on the receiving end of some not-so-choice words from his boss, but instead the man just looked tired. His lined forehead showed the weight he was carrying on this one. Elliot closed his mouth silently.

"Elliot, just deal with it, will you? You know this situation is a powder keg. Now go on, get out of here and find the shooter."

---------------------------

"Uniforms find the bag?" Elliot asked Munch as he passed by his desk.

"Yep, it should be getting to the lab anytime now."

"Where's the lab?" Makinsaw asked.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," Munch said, getting up from his chair.

"Detective Munch, this is Lieutenant Commander Makinsaw. He's the one railroading Lieutenant Miller."

"Ahh," Munch sighed. "The powers of the military-industrial complex in action. I thought I smelled something in the wind. John Munch. That's m u n c h. You can pull my file if you want. I know how you guys like to operate."

"I'm just trying to do my job," Makinsaw said.

"Does your job entail suppressing the investigation of a crime because the perpetrator is some hot shot with friends in high places? Or pressuring state authorities to expunge records of said hot shot?" Munch's nasal voice seemed to cut through the normal chaotic buzz of the squad room, and heads turned.

"I don't know what you are talking about. Nobody's suppressing anything. Lieutenant Miller is going to be adequately represented in her case, and any charges she makes against other Naval personnel will be investigated."

"Sure they will. Because the government never fails to air its dirty laundry." Munch sniffed derisively. "Lab's downstairs – basement level."

The men watched as the white-clad form of Makinsaw departed.

"What have you got, John? I've got to get to the lab. You know it won't take him more than two minutes to realize you've sent him to the morgue instead."

Munch snorted. "I'll bet he wanders around for five before he asks someone."

"He's a lawyer, not an imbecile."

"If he was so smart, he'd be making three hundred an hour in civilian practice instead of chasing down UA cases for less than what us slobs make." At a look from Eliot, he continued. "I've got two things. Firstly, Miss Adelaid Crater - a sweet little old lady of seventy who lives on the third floor of the building across from the courthouse. It was from her apartment that your perp shot Miller. Turns out he knocked on her door, and told her the super had sent him to fix the pipes. Next thing she knew he'd tied her up and stuffed her in the closet. She's OK, just a little shaken up. Uniforms found her pretty quick, and the guy didn't hurt her. She verified it was the same guy as the sketch artist rendering you had done. Said he wore heavy leather work gloves, so there may be no prints."

"He couldn't have worn work gloves to take that shot," Stabler argued.

"Techs are dusting the place, particularly near the window. If he left prints, that's where they'd be. But he might have worn surgical gloves as well – sounds like he was pretty careful all around."

"She have any other insight into our perp?"

"Not from the initial interview. The poor dear's being checked out at the hospital now and she's going to come back in tomorrow and we'll see if there's anything left to get then."

Elliot grunted. "What's the second thing?"

"Something's shaking loose over in Jersey. We've got a detective from Lakehurst coming up for a chat. We offered to come down, but I don't think he wants us on his turf. I'm feeling pretty bad vibes from out that way. He should be here tomorrow at ten to see you and Olivia."

"Great, thanks." It felt good to be making some progress. If only he could keep the military from sabotaging things. "Uh, let's not mention our Lakehurst visitor in front of the Navy."

"My lips are sealed. Think you can ditch him long enough to meet with the guy?"

"No problem," he smiled.

---------------------------------

Elliot found Makinsaw waiting in the hall outside the forensics lab.

"You guys think you're pretty funny, don't you?"

"Hey, chill out Makinsaw. You're here aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm here and you've got to deal with that, don't you Detective?"

Much as he hated to admit it, the man was right. However, Elliot Stabler was used to dealing with crap. After a couple decades as a cop, he certainly felt like an expert in crap. He shrugged noncommittally at Makinsaw and then turned to enter the forensics department, followed closely by the JAG lawyer.

CSU officer Julian Beck, working at a counter across the room, turned to see them enter. He gestured at Makinsaw. "Ah, so he is with you, Detective. Why didn't you tell me he was coming down? I made him wait out in the hall."

"That's fine, Beck. Excellent, in fact. I don't want this man, or anyone other than SVU personnel, within ten feet of any evidence in this case without my presence. You got that?" He watched Beck nod curiously. "So what do we got?"

Beck led them over to a table where a black bag had been splayed open. "This is the bag your suspect dumped in a trash can. Inside we found the weapon. A bolt-action, stripped down and modified 223 rifle.

"That's pretty small caliber for someone trying to kill, isn't it?" Elliot asked.

Beck nodded. "Yeah, which is likely why your vic is still alive. But it's small and lightweight – good for transport. Not only that, but it's easy to find - typically marketed for hunting nuisance animals up to the size of coyotes. It's good for sniping because it's got a really flat trajectory."

Elliot raised his eyebrows. It seemed a strange choice for a city kill shot, but there were a lot of things in this case that didn't make a whole lot of sense.

Beck continued. "While the gun itself is something that you can buy at pretty much any gun store, the sight is what's most intriguing. It's military grade."

"So go figure, our shooter was military." Stabler said, turning to look at Makinsaw.

"Or someone with a couple hundred bucks to spend on a fancy sight," Makinsaw argued. "That's come out on the civilian market recently." He pointed to the gun. "That sure isn't military issue, that's a varmint gun, not a sniper rifle."

"No, you're right" the CSU officer said. "However, it's been modified in a way that it could be disassembled and fit into this bag. I'd say whoever converted this weapon knew guns very well and possibly had military experience."

"'Possibly' doesn't mean squat," Makinsaw said.

"He's right," Stabler said, hating that he had to say it. "The guy could have bought the gun from someone who had a military or gunsmith background. I don't suppose there are any prints?"

"I've dusted the bag and the weapon but so far everything's clean. Your shooter must have taken a lot of care to wipe everything down or else he was wearing gloves. I'm analyzing some residue found in the bag that I suspect is the powder used in latex gloves. The results on that should be coming back any minute now."

"Fibers?" Makinsaw asked.

Elliot had just been about to ask the same thing. He gave Makinsaw a glare that he hoped made it clear that he was going to be the one asking the questions here. The forensics tech looked at him inquiringly, and he nodded.

"Not much for fibers found - some clothing-grade cotton fibers in white and blue – too common to make any match stand up."

"Any DNA?" Elliot asked before Makinsaw could open his mouth again.

"Nothing yet."

"Damn. What about the ammunition?"

"It's pretty standard and easy to get at any sporting goods shop. I'm checking the lot numbers to see if I can find out where the manufacturer distributed it. No prints on the ammunition or the shell casing from the shot he took at your vic."

"The bag?"

"Made in Taiwan, nondescript. Could be from anywhere – so far no way to trace it." Beck shook his head.

"If you've got everything you can from the bag, I'd like it to be sent to our lab," Makinsaw said.

"No way." Stabler shook his head. He turned to Beck. "None of the evidence in this case is to be released to anyone or sent anyplace without my express say-so."

"Come on," Makinsaw argued. "We've got staff and equipment. We might find something you missed."

"No how, no way," Elliot said bluntly. If Makinsaw thought that Elliot was going to let any of his evidence in this case fall into the Navy's hands, he was sorely mistaken. Now way was Elliot taking any chance of this evidence doing a disappearing act.

"Why not?"

"Chain of evidence, that's why not."

"We handle evidence all the time. We can maintain the chain as well as your lab can."

"Nope, the evidence stays here." This was not negotiable. He turned to the forensics technician and pointed a finger at him. "You got that Beck?"

Beck nodded as he looked from Elliot to Makinsaw and back again, one eyebrow raised.

"Why can't you be reasonable, Stabler?" the blond man said.

"Because I don't trust you, that's why not. You think that I'd turn over evidence to an organization that is in collusion to kill or otherwise silence my victim?"

"Watch your accusations, Stabler, or you'll be looking for your teeth." Makinsaw growled.

Elliot paused for a moment, and then slowly smiled at the man, displaying a full set of choppers.

----------------------------

Elliot sat in the darkened room listening. She was sleeping, and looked peaceful. He didn't want to wake her. Unfortunately, he figured he'd only shaken Makinsaw temporarily, and he wanted to talk to Juliet alone. He should wake her up so he could question her about the shooting. Still, he couldn't bring himself to disturb her, so for the past ten minutes he'd been sitting in the bedside chair just listening to her breathe. It was sort of soothing – that deep and regular sound of a woman in slumber. He hadn't heard that sound in a while, having slept alone since he and Kathy had separated.

She stirred slightly in her sleep and made a noise that sounded like a whimper. Her face lost its peaceful expression and grew pained. Her breathing, so slow and regular before, grew erratic. Her body quaked slightly and she whimpered some more. Instinctively, he reached out and rested his hand over hers. Her hand was pale and cool and her skin felt silken under his fingers. She quieted a bit. Her breathing settled down back into a regular pattern and the whimpering stopped.

Nightmares were a bitch, he thought. He'd had his share. He wondered what hers was about. Were they memories of her rape? Things she'd seen in Iraq? Reliving being shot? It didn't really matter. The suffering was what mattered. Everybody suffered. She'd suffered. He'd suffered. His partner had suffered. Every victim he'd ever worked with had suffered. Hell, even some of the perps had suffered, although he didn't particularly care about that. Sometimes the world felt like a giant shithole full of suffering. Something that Munch had told once him rang in his memory – some quote from an old philosopher. Life is nasty, brutish, and short. Ain't that the truth, he thought.

The door opened and he pulled back quickly as a nurse entered the room. It's not that he was doing anything wrong, but he felt a bit funny to be touching the woman as she slept.

"I'm going to take her vitals. You can stay if you like," she assured him in a quiet voice.

He nodded and watched as the nurse took Juliet's pulse – touching the hand that he'd touched only moments ago. He wondered if it felt as doll-like to the nurse as it had to him. He doubted it. The nurse touched people all the time – it was her job. Not that he didn't touch people – he'd manhandled perps on a pretty regular basis, and he'd comforted victims and their family members when he'd needed to. And then there was his own family – the kids… Kathy... It had been a while since he'd touched them – the kids were growing up and it felt like he hardly saw them anymore – they were too old to want the hugs and kisses he'd given them when they were younger. And Kathy… Things hadn't been the same for quite a while as far as touching was concerned, before the separation. It was more the physical need and the habit of it, and since they'd separated, even those two reasons were lacking.

The nurse pulled Juliet's loose gown away enough to listen to her chest with a stethoscope. Elliot could see the adhesive tape and gauze bandage covering her skin. He'd been shot himself, although not as badly. That bullet to the arm had been painful enough – he could hardly imagine what being shot in the chest would feel like.

As the nurse pumped up the blood pressure cuff, Juliet stirred and opened her eyes.

"I'm just taking your BP, honey," the nurse said. "I'll be done in just a second. How are you feeling? On a scale of one to ten, how's the pain?"

Juliet blinked. "I don't know. Five maybe." Her voice was quiet and a little hoarse.

"Are you ready for another dose of medication for your pain?"

Juliet shook her head. "I'm OK."

"Well, if it gets any worse, you let me know. You can have another dose of pain medication anytime now if you need it. Your BP is a little low, but that's to be expected. Your pulse and breathing are just fine. Here's your call button." The nurse gestured at the button cord tied to the bed rail, jotted some numbers in the chart and left.

"Hey there," Elliot said, leaning in.

"Hey," she answered, her voice quiet.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She looked away and then back. "Uh, I remember leaving the courthouse. Walking toward the car. Then I think I tripped or something. I know I fell down. I don't remember much else until I woke up here."

"You didn't trip, Juliet, you were shot. Do you remember that?"

She blinked. "I remember a loud noise. I was shot?"

He nodded. "Yes. The doctor says you're very lucky. They repaired the damage and you should make a full recovery."

"Who shot me?"

Elliot held up a sheet of paper with the sketch artist rendering from his own description on it. "Do you know this guy?"

"Is that the guy who shot me?"

"I think so. Have you ever seen him before?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so." She paused. "Wait. Maybe. I don't know why, but he seems a little familiar."

"He was in the bar. Came in just before the MPs."

She closed her eyes for a moment and then nodded. "I think I remember. Did he stare at me?"

"Yep. I figured he was just checking you out, but he must have been tracking you. I'm surprised you remember, as much as you had to drink."

She shrugged and then gave him a weak smile. "You know us swabbies – we can hold our liquor. So he might have been trying to kill me then?"

"I think he was looking for a chance at you, yeah. He laid off when he saw you talking to me. And then the MPs showed and he'd missed his opportunity."

"You know," she said, her voice slow and quiet. "I wanted to thank you for doing everything you did to try to keep the MPs from taking me into custody. Taking a punch is one thing, but having me shot goes above and beyond." Then she smiled.

It took him a moment to realize she was joking. The woman could laugh in a hospital recovering from a gunshot wound. Amazing. He smiled back. "Hey, you can't blame this one on me. I'm still wondering how you managed duty in Iraq and Afghanistan just to get shot back here in the states. There'll be no purple heart for you on this one, Lieutenant."

She chuckled slightly and then winced, holding her hands over her chest and groaning a little.

"Maybe we should tone down the comedy review."

"Yeah, laughing is definitely not recommended," she said breathily.

"You OK? Want me to get the nurse in here with the pain meds?"

She shook her head. "I'll be OK."

She didn't look OK. She looked in pain. Her breathing seemed shallower than before. "You told me that Rodacker had threatened to get some goons after you. Do you think this guy is one of his?"

She nodded, then took in a sharp breath and groaned in pain.

"Let me call the nurse for the pain meds."

"I said, I'll be OK."

Her words came out slowly through gritted teeth. Her skin was pale. Nope, he thought, she was definitely not OK. "I'm going to get the nurse." He stood.

"No!"

Her voice came out almost as a grunting exhalation. She reached out as if to try to catch his arm.

He paused, stepped forward, and leaned in. "Juliet," he said reasonably. "When you told the nurse your pain was a five level, you were lying, weren't you? Only us jarheads are supposed to be that dense. If you're in pain, you need the meds."

She grasped his arm. Aside from the pain, he thought he saw fear in her eyes. He bent down closer.

"Do you know how many guys I saw get hooked on that stuff after getting hurt in Iraq? I can deal." She took a breath sharply and released it through gritted teeth.

She was afraid of the meds, he realized. Afraid of becoming addicted… He, too, had known compatriots wounded overseas who had gotten hooked. If his own experience years ago was any indication, the military docs were a little too free and easy with the happy meds. That, coupled with the stress of wartime and lack of supportive care, had led more than a few good men, and he supposed women, into drug addiction.

He sat back down. "I understand. But that's not going to happen to you here."

She didn't look convinced.

"Look," he said gently. "You don't have anything to prove."

She frowned. "I should be able to handle it." She grimaced against the pain, sucking in another shaky breath and closing her eyes tightly for a moment. "Why the hell am I so weak?"

"That's crazy. You've been shot – a bullet ripped a hole through your body. You've had surgery. Nobody would be expected to tolerate that. And you're not weak. You're one of the strongest people I've met, damn it. Now shut up and stop trying to be Rambo. I'm going to call for the nurse and you're going to let her give you some pain medication. You got that?" He waited, giving her what he hoped was a very stern expression.

After a moment she nodded. "OK."

He pushed the call button for her, glad that she'd finally acquiesced, although he'd been ready to get the nurse regardless. She still believed that she was weak. For being in pain after being shot… For not being able to 'just get over' being raped… It was crazy.

Suddenly Juliet's eyes closed and she groaned, her face growing pale and gray. Her words came out with the gasped shallow breaths. "Ask nurse… hurry?"

He hurried out the door and headed for the nurses station, calling out.

After a few tense moments, the nurse was there with the syringe. Elliot was glad to see the drug take effect almost immediately after being injected into her IV line. Juliet's face cleared – the ashen hue fading from her skin. She started to breathe more deeply.

"Better now, honey?" the nurse asked.

Juliet nodded in relief.

"You'll be fine. That pain must have just snuck up on you. You just get some rest now. The medication will make you pretty sleepy in a minute."

Juliet nodded again, her eyes closing.

Elliot didn't realize she'd be sleeping again – he should have asked her more questions about the shooting… about her rape... when she was awake and talking. Instead he'd made jokes. Socialized. Not great police work, he told himself ruefully. He looked at Juliet. She wasn't asleep yet. He'd probably have a few minutes before the medication took full effect. "Juliet?"

"Hmmm?" she responded fuzzily, eyes flickering a bit but remaining closed, her breathing growing deeper and more regular.

He knew he should, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it – to open up the subject of her shooting or her assault. He smiled slightly and restrained his impulse to reach out and smooth the hair that had fallen across her forehead. "Sleep well. I'll see you later."

"Mmmmkay."


	9. Chapter 09

Chapter 9 

The next morning, Elliot was at his desk reviewing some witness statements on the shooting when Makinsaw arrived.

"So, I heard you had a chat with Lieutenant Miller last night," the white-clad officer said, leaning forward over Stabler's desk, his face angry.

"So?"

"So, we're supposed to be working together. Telling me you've got a family emergency and then sneaking off to interview Lieutenant Miller isn't working together, Stabler."

Elliot shrugged. "Sorry about that. Maybe next time." He took a drink of coffee from the cup on his desk.

"And telling the medical staff not to let me in – do I need to go to your Captain?"

"Nah, look, I'm sorry. I did have a family thing – but I stopped off on the way just to see if Jul- Lieutenant Miller was OK. It was a couple of minutes and she was pretty much still out of it from the pain meds. You didn't miss anything."

"Then lets go back now. I want to talk to Miller."

"Later. Like I said, she's out of it from the meds. We've got some other investigating to do. The lab got something on the ammunition. Turns out the manufacturing date on the bullets was very recent - most of the stuff's still in the warehouse. Only a few shipments have gone out to retailers in the area." He held up a piece of paper. "Three in the city, two in Jersey."

"You're going to run around to five places in the tri-state area?"

"Yeah. Or rather, we are," Elliot responded, stressing the word 'we.' "I'll take the boroughs and you take the two shops in Jersey – one's near your naval facility in Lakehurst – right up your alley."

"If you're trying to ditch me again - " Makinsaw growled.

"Makinsaw," he said reasonably, "we can't waste time driving around the tri-state all day. And I've got no clout in Jersey – but you do. It's a win-win all around. Look, go now and we'll meet back up this afternoon. I'll take you to see Miller and it's all good." Elliot smiled and cocked his head, eyebrows raised.

Makinsaw sighed. "OK, give me the info."

Elliot handed him the New Jersey information and a copy of the sketch artist rendering and was very pleased to see Makinsaw depart without further hassle. He did a little drumroll with his fingers on the desk once the man was out of view.

Munch's voice sounded from his desk partway across the room. "Remember what you said yesterday about Makinsaw not being an imbecile?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I take it all back."

"What's going on?" Olivia asked as she arrived in the squad room, setting a steaming Starbucks cup on her desk.

"Oh, just your partner giving Makinsaw the old heave-ho again. Elliot's pretty good at it – you'd better watch your back with him Olivia – what, you don't like my coffee?"

"He knows better. He tries to pawn the scut work off on me and he'll regret it pretty quick. And I'll plead the fifth on the coffee question," Olivia said, looking over at Munch, whose coffee was somewhat legendary for it's undrinkability.

"So you really gonna to let Makinsaw work alone? What if he comes up with something?" Munch asked.

Elliot shrugged and gave a sly grin. "It's covered. I talked to the stores in Jersey on the phone a half hour ago – one of them described our perp to a T – the store near Lakehurst."

"Another military connection, who'd have guessed?" Munch asked, his voice deadpan. "So if you know this, why are you sending Makinsaw out there?"

"I want to see what Makinsaw comes back with. Might give us a clue as to how deep he is in the conspiracy to railroad Miller. Plus, I needed to get rid of him for a while."

"So what's really on the agenda today, then?" Olivia asked.

"We got Detective Hill coming in from Lakehurst any minute. Did you get anything from your source in Trenton?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Nothing to get, or was your source a no-go?"

"What he means to ask, Olivia, is," Munch said, stepping over to lean against her desk, sipping from his own mug of squad room coffee, "is the guy still pissed off at you for dumping him?"

Elliot looked up at his partner, eyebrows raised.

"It was a mutual decision John – I didn't dump him," she insisted. "And everything went fine – friendly even."

"You buy that, Elliot?" Munch asked.

He looked from Munch to his partner, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Well, Liv, the guy left town – you must have broke his heart."

"For your information, he left town for a promotion. It had nothing to do with me. We're friends. And he's engaged now." She pursed her lips. "But if you two would stop gossiping for a minute… He hadn't heard anything on Rodacker. But he's going to put feelers out." Her voice indicated that it was the end of this particular conversation.

"OK." Elliot turned to John. "What about this uh, what's her name – Carter?"

"Crater. Yeah, she was just here. We got nothing new from her. The lab guys are still working up prints pulled from her apartment but nothing so far and I don't expect anything. The shooter was careful."

"What's this? A coffee shop?" Fin said, coming into the squad room. "While you guys are sitting around here enjoying your java fix, I've got a hit on our suspect. Transit cops think they spotted him a hour ago on the west side – Amsterdam and a hundred and sixteenth subway station."

"That's near the hospital where Miller is," Elliot said, leaning forward.

"Yep, sounds like he might be on the prowl for her."

"They didn't pick him up?"

"He was gone by the time they'd re-checked the bulletin and decided it was him." Fin shrugged. "Munch and I'll head down there and canvas the area with the Transit cops and some uniforms – see if we can pick something up."

"I want more presence in the hospital. Think Cragan'll spring for it?" Stabler asked. "She's pretty vulnerable – it'd be easy for our guy to take her out if he could get in there."

Munch shrugged. "I think you'd better hope he's in a better mood today than yesterday. You've already got uniforms on the door."

"Yeah, but something doesn't feel right. If I have to, I'll take an overnight shift down there myself."

"Put me down for a few hours if you need another body," Munch said as he collected his fedora, and then he and Fin departed.

------------------------------------------------

"Detective Stabler?"

Elliot looked up at the balding man dressed in an untucked button-down shirt that seemed too big for his thin frame. "Yeah. Hill?"

"Yeah."

It was the detective from Lakehurst New Jersey. Good, Elliot thought, hoping they'd finally get some real dirt on Rodacker. He stood up and shook hands with Hill. "This is my partner, Olivia Benson."

"Can we go somewhere private?" Hill asked.

"Sure – the interview room's free." He gestured toward an open door across the squad room.

"Uh, maybe someplace out of the house?" Hill said slowly, looking around the precinct house warily.

Squirrelly little guy, Elliot thought, not what he'd expected at all. "Uh, OK, let's take a walk."

Elliot led the way as he, Olivia, and the New Jersey detective went down the stairs and outside.

"Where to?" Elliot looked at his partner with raised eyebrows as they emerged onto the sidewalk.

"Coffee shop up the street?" she suggested.

"Pretty close to the station. Is it a cop hangout?" Hill asked nervously.

She shrugged. "Maybe, I guess."

Hill shook his head. "Where else?"

"Central Park?" Elliot asked.

"Sure," Hill answered, although from his expression, Elliot thought it wouldn't matter where they went as long as it was far away from the cop shop.

Ten minutes later, they entered the park, Hill breathing heavily from the short walk. Elliot continued to be unimpressed with New Jersey's finest. Hill seemed like he was in pretty sad shape – it looked like a strong wind could knock him down, let alone a perp.

"So, now that we're away from home. I assume you've got something to tell us?" Olivia asked as they paused along the walkway.

"You're not wired, are you?"

"For what?" Elliot asked impatiently. This was starting to feel a little absurd.

"Look, Detective," Olivia said. "We've got a case. We're just trying to get background. I don't know what you're afraid of, but we're not the rat squad, and we're not out to hang you for anything."

Hill's eyes shifted uneasily. He swallowed. "Sorry, I just… It's been a while since the Rodacker thing, but it still burns me. When you called…" he shook his head.

Olivia gestured to a bench on the walkway. Hill sat, a grateful expression on his tired face. She sat next to him. Elliot remained standing.

"So, what's your interest in Rodacker?" Hill asked.

"Like she said," Elliot replied. "We've got a case."

"What case?"

Elliot spent the next ten minutes filling Hill in on Juliet.

When he finished, Hill nodded. "I'd bet money that Rodacker raped her."

"Why do you say that?" Olivia asked.

"Because he raped a woman in Lakehurst. I worked the case."

"So why's there no record of that charge?"

"She recanted and somebody buried the paperwork. But he raped her, all right."

"How do you know?" Elliot asked.

"I took her statement. Maybe I don't deal with as many sex-crime victims as you do, but I've seen my share. I saw it in her eyes. That bastard raped her."

Elliot nodded. He'd suspected that Rodacker had raped before. The man seemed too confident… too cavalier in the way he'd treated Miller. He'd raped before and gotten away with it. He was a man used to power, not fear… A man who dominated those around him… But just maybe he'd made some mistakes. Perhaps things were going to catch up with him this time. Elliot wanted to be the one to turn the tables – to take away that power and to see the fear on Rodacker's face.

Hill was continuing. "Her name is Anita Kasten. She was Rodacker's secretary."

"A civilian?"

"Yeah, the base contracts out for civilian labor – provides clerical jobs, stuff like that – to keep good relations with the city. She told us she didn't have any problem with Rodacker for those first couple years, except that he was a general hard-ass."

"So, what happened after those two years?" Olivia asked.

Hill rubbed his forehead. "It turned out the woman had got into some financial trouble – too many credit cards, couldn't pay the bills. You know how it goes. Anyway, she picked up some work on the side," he looked a bit uncomfortable, "at a local gentlemen's club."

"Just dancing or something more?" Elliot queried, knowing that sometimes workers in such places earned extra money through prostitution.

Hill nodded. "Just dancing. The place is a strip club, but it's pretty clean – the city keeps a close watch on it. We've had drunk and disorderlies out there, a few minor drug arrests, but nothing for prostitution, organized crime or real violence. And the woman, she didn't seem the type to turn pro - sweet girl, really. Just needed the extra cash."

"Sure it was credit cards and not gambling or a loan shark or something?" Olivia asked.

"Yeah, just the cards – she had something like forty large in plastic." Hill took a long breath. "Sounds like her boss Rodacker wasn't too pleased when he heard from his subordinates that they'd seen his secretary flashing her goods at the local titty bar."

If Rodacker was indeed the control-freak misogynist that Elliot suspected him to be, he could well imagine the man wouldn't be happy to hear about his secretary moonlighting as a stripper. And if his own experience with the military rumor mill was any indication, there'd be no way to keep something like that quiet. He nodded. "Sounds like something that would set him off."

"Yeah. She said he asked her to stay late at the office the night he raped her."

So the guy had a pattern, Elliot considered. He'd had Miller come to his office late at night as well. The office, the seat of his power… A place where he could easily remember and 'relive' his experiences on a daily basis…

"He told her that she shouldn't be doing that kind of work because there'd be all sorts of pervs at that place." Hill leaned forward on the bench and put a hand on his stomach. "Sorry, I'm not feeling too well today."

"No problem," Olivia said. "Want me to go find you some water or something?"

Hill continued, shaking his head. "She said that she was embarrassed and angry when he confronted her. Ended up telling Rodacker it was none of his business what she did on her own time." He paused for a moment. "It sounds like that's what lit the fuse. He yelled at her, called her a whore, and then said she was real lucky not to have been raped already."

Stabler's eyes widened. "Let me guess. He told her that he'd show her what it was like."

Hill nodded. "Yeah. Said he'd teach her a lesson and she'd be glad it was him and not some lowlifes down at the strip club. Knocked her down and raped her right there on the floor of his office."

"He tie her up?" Elliot asked.

Hill shook his head. "Nah, just overpowered her. Held her down. She was a tiny thing – barely five two. She wouldn't have had the fight in her to give Rodacker much of a hard time. He's big – gotta be at least two ten - and real fit."

Anita Kasten, a civilian secretary, wouldn't have had military training like Juliet, she'd have been easy to overpower, Elliot thought, recalling Juliet's recounting of how Rodacker had gagged her and tied her hands with the telephone cord.

Hill looked grim. "And would you believe that afterward he told her he'd had to do it? That she should thank him for it, the son of a bitch."

Hill's face showed an expression of disgust tinged with nausea. It was one that Elliot knew well. "Yeah," Elliot said. "I believe it. He did the same to Miller – said she was lucky it was him raping her and not Iraqi insurgents. Made out like it was some kind of training exercise or something."

"He threaten her afterward? He told my vic she'd better quit her job at the club, or far worse would happen to her. Threatened her about saying anything about his 'lesson,' too."

"But she must have reported it," Elliot said, nodding.

Hill nodded. "Yep. She was scared and traumatized, but she had the guts to go to the hospital. The docs called us in and we convinced her to press charges."

"Evidence?"

"Yep, DNA and everything. I thought we had the bastard."

"So what happened to the case?" he asked.

"You know what it feels like to be in a shit storm, Detective?"

Elliot nodded. He'd been a police officer for a long time, and had his share of difficult cases.

"Well, I thought I had, too. But until that case, I guess I had got off easy. I'd never seen anything like it. It was like the Navy was up in arms, putting the heat on. My captain, well, all of us, were getting slammed by the mayor and the chief of police."

"Yeah, sounds like what's been going on here."

"Well, expect more," Hill said, looking grim. "The Navy was threatening to dismiss their civilian employees on base, contracts with the city were getting postponed and cancelled. Every alderman in the city was breathing down our necks. And it didn't just hit the higher-ups, either. Watch your backs, Detectives. My partner was only a year from retirement, and they threatened to have IA look through his life with a fine-toothed comb until they found something to yank his pension for."

"Was there anything there to find?" Olivia asked.

"Nah, Bob was a good cop. But he was scared. His wife was sick… He didn't need that kind of aggravation."

"And you?"

"Bob was the primary on the case, so he got the brunt of it, but yeah, I took some heat." He sighed. "I like to think I would have stood up to it, you know? But I'll never know for sure, because Kasten recanted. After that we got orders from the brass and the mayor to lay off."

"But it must have been pretty obvious he was intimidating her," Olivia observed. "Couldn't your captain see that?"

"Let me guess again," Stabler said. "Rodacker had cooked up some evidence that she was unstable or out to get him."

Hill touched his forefinger to his nose and smiled a grim smile. "Yep. Swabbies were coming out of the woodwork to say how Kasten was the base ho and gave it up to anything in uniform. Rodacker produced witnesses that swore she'd been throwing herself at him. He said he'd refused her advances until that night, and that the sex was consensual. Then she'd supposedly tried to blackmail him - threatened to go to the cops and the newspapers if he didn't pay her to keep her mouth shut."

"Was that enough to get her to shut up?" Olivia asked.

He nodded grimly. "More than enough. He had witnesses willing to swear she was an unstable slut, and some," he paused, "evidence," he spat out the word, "that she'd tried to blackmail him. He might have done more – I'd lay money on him physically threatening her, but I've got no proof of it. She recanted the whole thing – said Rodacker hadn't raped her, the sex was consensual... She told us she was sorry for making trouble. That and the shit I was getting from upstairs?" He shook his head. "That was it for the case."

"So you just dropped it?" Elliot asked angrily.

Hill stood up and paced a few steps back and forth in front of the bench. His voice turned defensive. "Do you know what it's like to live in a city whose main source of jobs and income is a military base?"

Stabler shook his head.

"The local government kowtows to the military because they don't want to lose the revenue the base brings. There was talk of maybe closing down the base because of government cuts, and a rape scandal wasn't doing any good for Lakehurst. I didn't like it, and I tried, Detective, I really tried. If I had pursued it any further, I'd have been out on my ass. My captain was getting calls day and night. The DA's office had decided they wouldn't touch the case. When Kasten recanted, my head was on the chopping block big time." He sat back down on the bench with a sigh. "So yeah, I dropped it."

"We understand, Detective," Olivia said, touching Hill's arm. "It doesn't sound like there's anything more you could have done."

"I got demoted two grades as it was – insubordination. Someone sent IA some unpleasant and untrue allegations. I had them riding me for years after that. I suppose it was Rodacker or some of his friends sending me a message to keep my mouth shut."

"But you're here now," Elliot said.

"Yup. But if you'dve asked me a couple years ago, I probably wouldn't be. Rodacker's a bad man with lots of friends in high places. If you value your career, you don't mess with him."

"So what's changed?" Olivia asked.

Hill paused, looking from Elliot to Olivia. "I'm not that scared of him anymore."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because…" He looked uncomfortable. "I've got pancreatic cancer. It's terminal. I'll probably be dead in a year."

"God," Olivia breathed. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "That's the shit, isn't it? Still, if I can go out with a clearer conscience, I guess I'd like to. I never felt good about that case." He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. "It soured me on police work. I probably should have got out a long time ago because I've been a pretty shit cop since, really."

"I'm sure that's not true," Olivia said, patting on his arm.

The man looked down at his hands silently.

The quiet felt palpable. Elliot didn't know what to say. No wonder Hill looked like crap – he was dying. He'd been feeling some anger at Hill – if the man had been able to collar Rodacker years ago, Juliet would never have suffered. But he felt his anger at the dying man dissolve. Could Hill have done more to make his case? Could he, Elliot Stabler, SVU detective, do any more today than Hill had done back then? Was he himself willing to risk more than Hill had in order to get Rodacker? And what did he have on Rodacker? Zip, zero, nada… Hill had DNA and still couldn't get the bastard. How could they even have a hope of some kind of justice for Juliet in all this?

He pushed those thoughts away. Sometimes it didn't do to get ahead of the investigation. One step at a time, Stabler, he told himself. He looked at the withered detective with new admiration. It had taken guts for Hill to come talk to them. If things had been as bad as he'd said – and he had no doubt of that – the man had some stones.

"What I don't get, Hill," Elliot said, "is if the case never got to court, why there's an expunged record at all?"

"Oh that," Hill said. "That wasn't the rape. I wasn't involved, but you know word gets around. It was a prostitution sting. Rodacker was nabbed for soliciting an undercover officer for sex. They had him on tape and everything. He pled out quick to try to keep things quiet, and then somehow his record got expunged. Friends in high places and all that." He smiled. "I think that one didn't sit too well with his superiors because it wasn't very much longer until he got transferred. I wasn't unhappy to see the back of him, I can tell you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 

"Come on," Olivia urged. "I'll buy you a coffee." She led him into the small coffee shop near the station house.

He eyed her. "A coffee, or one of those mochachinolatte concoctions that you like?"

"Whatever you want, it's on me," she smiled, gesturing to a small table near the window.

"OK. Nothing frou frou," he insisted, "just something hot with caffeine." The caffeine jolt from his morning coffee in the squad room was waning a bit. He sat down at the table as his partner ordered, running their visit with Hill through his mind again. If he hadn't been certain that Rodacker was a rapist before, Hill's story would have convinced him. No, there was no doubt that Rodacker was scum. The doubt was whether or not he'd ever be held accountable for his crimes.

Elliot looked up as Olivia set the steaming paper cup in front of him. He eyed it warily, looking for signs of foam or sprinkles or whatever additives people in these kinds of places messed up their coffee with.

"It's just plain coffee, Elliot." She sipped her own concoction, which emitted a strong aroma that was tinged with vanilla. "But you should really broaden your horizons."

He nodded to assuage her, but his years as a cop had ameliorated his system to plain old harsh - and generally bad – coffee. He almost preferred it now. Plus being on a city paycheck and supporting four kids didn't lend itself to paying six dollars for a fancy coffee fix. He took a sip. Strong and dark, the brew burned faintly as it hit his stomach. He had to admit it did make a pleasant change from the rotgut java normally on offer in the squad.

"Hill's story was pretty convincing," Olivia said.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Not that you needed any convincing. You've believed Miller from the start."

He nodded.

"How come?"

He shrugged. "You know how it is, Liv. I saw it in her eyes."

"You've been wrong before."

"But not this time." He gave his partner a hard look. Yes, it was true that he'd been wrong before – trusted a witness that lied to them, or suspected an innocent party – but more often than not his instincts were pretty damned good. They'd been partners a long time, but Olivia still didn't trust his judgment implicitly. It stung a bit, but he had to admit to himself that perhaps this was part of what made them exceptional partners. They trusted each other, but still questioned, often approaching a case or information from differing perspectives. It had led to disagreements - even arguments - on occasion, but mostly they'd been the better team for it.

"I uh, mentioned Hill when I talked to Dave earlier."

He smiled across the table at her. "Yeah? What did your Trenton squeeze have to say about our source?"

She smiled back, raising an eyebrow. "Former squeeze. He said that Hill was a good cop – made detective early in his career and was on the fast track. Until a few years ago, that is."

"The Kasten case, I presume," he said.

Olivia shrugged. "Must be. Dave didn't know about that, but he said Hill must have made some enemies and that it was lucky he was able to hold onto his job, let alone ever be promoted again."

"And you're telling me this because - "

"Because I don't want you to become Hill, Elliot." She reached out and grasped his forearm. "You're doing a lot of good work. You're great with the victims… you bring in the perps... But you can't win them all, and this one's not looking good. I'm not so sure you should risk your career."

Her touch was slightly electric. They'd been partners a long time, but partners or not, Olivia was a beautiful woman… A woman with whom he spent more time than he had with his wife most days… He shook the hand off gently under the pretext of taking another sip of his coffee. No, they were far better as partners, and as beautiful and as fine a woman as Olivia Benson was, he was more in need of her friendship and support than any sort of romantic entanglement, even should she be amenable, which he doubted.

"I just want to get a perp – possibly a serial rapist – off the streets. I only want justice for his victims."

She pulled her own hand back and sipped her coffee. Then she looked at him closely. "But is it worth your career?"

He shrugged. "We've gone to the mat for victims before, Liv."

"Are you sure you're not taking this one too personally, El?"

"What's personal about it?"

"Miller's military. I know you don't like to talk about that part of your life, Elliot, but maybe you're pushing this because of some," she paused as if considering a choice of words, "demons from your time in the Marines?"

He held back a biting reply. Her words irked him, and his first instinct was to deny it. To refute the allegation that he was investigating this case out of some misguided mission of retaliation against military authority. How would Olivia like it if he accused her of going to the mat for a victim just because her own mother was raped? But… he had to admit that maybe there was something to that. Olivia did take extra care with victims because of her own history. She was an exceptional cop not despite her experience with her mother, but because of it.

Was it so absurd that he was taking a personal interest in Miller because they had shared something of a common experience? They'd both served. They'd both seen things that people shouldn't see. They'd both been sent to parts of the world where they'd had no business - been pawns of fat cat politicians with corrupt agendas. He hated feeling that way – cynical – because he loved his country, and had joined up to serve and defend. As a young man full of idealism, he'd felt that it was the right thing to do. That idealism had been battered and buffeted during his time in the service, but it was still there beneath the cynicism he'd developed. It was all very confusing, and he didn't care to think about it. This case had pushed uncomfortable feelings from his past too far to the forefront… Feelings that he didn't particularly care to examine.

His partner couldn't _know_. She'd been a cop, served in that way, but it wasn't the same thing. She hadn't been in a war zone… Hadn't been in the desert… While life in the NYPD sometimes felt like it, it was not combat. Miller knew. She'd been there, like he had. It was bad enough to put your life on the line under orders from some politicians in Washington, but getting repaid for that service in the way Miller had been – at the hands of some scum like Rodacker - that was just unacceptable. It wasn't something that he could just let go.

He ran a hand over his scalp, feeling the stubble haircut he'd worn since his time in the service. "Liv, maybe you're right. Maybe I am taking it personally because of some," he paused, shrugging, "connection with Miller. But it doesn't make her any less deserving of justice. It doesn't make Rodacker any less deserving of spending the rest of his life in prison for rape or attempted murder, or anything we can make stick. I caught the case. I wasn't looking for it, but I caught it. And I can't drop it."

"But Hill - "

"Hill regretted letting it go. Couldn't you see the way it's haunted him, Olivia? You're right - I don't want to end up like Hill. Not because his career went down the toilet, but because he's lived with that regret and it's been eating him up. No," he shook his head. "I'm not quitting until I do my best to take Rodacker down like the lowlife he is."

"You may not be able to take Rodacker down. You know it's hit or miss with rape cases as it is, and we've got nothing to link him on the shooting. Throw in a complaining witness with no credibility, no physical evidence of the rape, which was not even in our jurisdiction…" She shook her head. "I know you want this, El. I just think you need to be careful… Protect yourself." She played with the handle on the sleeve of her coffee cup for a moment, and then looked across the table at him, her eyes meeting his. "You're worth more than Stephen Rodacker."

Logically, he knew that she was right… that risking his career over a perp was probably counter-productive in the long run, but he couldn't stop now. If there was a connection between Juliet's shooting and the man who had raped her, he was going to find it, consequences be damned. "I can't drop it, Liv. But you're right. It's risky. That's why you should stay out of it as much as possible. Don't risk your ass."

She shook her head. "And I told you before, your ass is my ass."

-------------------------------

He sent Olivia back to the squad to fill in Cragan on their meeting with Hill. He had some time left before Makinsaw would make it back from Jersey, and he wanted to use the temporary freedom to his advantage.

"You got a few minutes, Doc?" he called through the open doorway of George Huang's office.

Huang looked up from the papers he was examining, paused with an inscrutable expression, and then replied. "Sure," his voice was slightly hesitant. "Come in. Close the door."

The doctor stood and gestured for Elliot to sit. Before he could speak, however, the FBI psychiatrist did.

"I'm not supposed to be talking to you."

"Huh?"

"I don't know what's going on, but it's been strongly suggested to me that I not be involved in your current investigation." Huang's face was curious, but guarded.

Damn, Elliot thought. Was the entire Federal government on alert in this case? "Uh, OK. I guess I'll just go then." He stood up to leave.

"Sit down, Elliot."

"You sure?"

Huang nodded. "I'm curious." He smiled and sat. "So, what is going on?"

Elliot filled in the doctor about his encounter with Miller and the subsequent chaos that had ensued. Huang took it all in silently, making occasional notes on a yellow pad.

"I was hoping you could give me some insight into Rodacker."

Huang considered this for a moment. "I think you're right in describing him as a misogynist. There are several forms. It's not a mental illness, but it is a recognized belief structure that is considered deviant in our culture. I don't think he's the classical misogynist. He's an anti-feminist misogynist. The fact that he had a reasonable relationship with his female secretary for a period of years indicates that he doesn't hate all women outright. He hates women that aren't in roles that he considers acceptable for them. As his secretary, Anita Kasten was tolerated, even appreciated. I wouldn't be surprised if he was quite considerate of her. But once she stepped outside that role, she no longer fit into his categorization of acceptability."

"She had to be punished," Elliot said.

Huang thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "Not punished exactly. She had to be _shown_. She had to be put in her place by learning the consequences of stepping outside it."

"By him."

"Yes. He sees himself as a leader… a teacher, perhaps. He sees it as his duty to keep others in line, particularly those that challenge his belief in traditional male/female roles."

"And Miller being assigned to his unit put her outside a traditional female role."

Huang nodded. "Definitely. The fact that Miller had been previously deployed to a war zone was probably very unsettling for him, and then her being forcibly integrated into his all-male unit… It probably tested his belief structure substantially."

Elliot leaned forward. "Causing him to rape her?"

"Yes. You said he told her that he had to show her what could happen to her, right? To a misogynist of his caliber, acceptable female roles tend to fall into two broad categories – the virgin and the whore. By stepping outside the virgin category – being a woman in a traditionally male role – she automatically fell into the other category – that of the whore. He demonstrated the consequences of this by dominating her sexually."

"This isn't some kind of defensible mental illness, though, right, Doc?" There was no way that he wanted to see Rodacker skate on some pansy-ass psych defense.

"No, of course not. He may hate women or feel they are valuable only in particular roles, but he knows that what he's doing is wrong. He just doesn't care. And as I said, it's not a mental illness. It's more like being a racist – having hatred based on beliefs that we consider culturally irrational."

"Culturally irrational?" Elliot asked.

"In Western culture, the role of women has changed, particularly during recent times. Women have integrated into nearly all aspects of our society. It's not like that everywhere, Detective. Male dominated societies with the enforcement of traditional feminine roles do exist. Such misogynistic behavior might be considered within the norm in those societies, while it certainly isn't here."

Stabler huffed. "A man could rape a woman because she didn't meet his definition of what a woman should be?"

Huang shrugged. "In some middle eastern cultures, a woman who is not a virgin and not married might automatically be considered a whore. In Indian culture, a woman who cheats on her husband might be burned alive. It's not as common as it used to be, but it's not unheard of, either."

Elliot considered this. It was true that he'd been involved in more than a few cases where certain cultural practices were enough to turn his stomach. "But Rodacker's American."

Huang nodded. "Yes. His beliefs are unacceptable in our culture. But he's had a career where he hasn't had to face scrutiny in that area until recently. The military has traditionally separated male and female roles in many areas. He's risen to a rank where he's been able to maintain his belief structure by preventing integration of his unit."

"So when he was forced to integrate Miller into his unit - "

Huang nodded. "He reacted. Badly. But he knows that what he was doing was wrong. He must have supreme confidence that he'll never be held accountable for his actions. His letting Miller and Kasten go after he raped them is somewhat curious. He warns them not to tell, but he takes care to destroy their credibility because he suspects that they will. Perhaps he wants them to, because he then has the opportunity to defeat them once again… To show them his power and to put them in their place."

"And Miller's shooting?"

Huang thought for a moment. "I don't know. I'd have to interview Rodacker and get into his head. It's possible he arranged for someone to kill her because his façade of control is finally crumbling. We don't really know what's gone on behind the scenes in his own chain of command. By shutting her up, maybe he thinks that will end whatever scrutiny he's been undergoing. But - " Huang paused.

"But?"

"Well, Miller didn't die. She was shot in the chest, with a relatively small-caliber weapon. Why? It sounded like the shooter probably had all the time he needed. Why didn't he shoot her in the head? Why didn't he use a bigger rifle or expansion-effect ammunition that would be far more likely to kill her?"

"The shooter had a military-quality scope, on a varmint rifle," Elliot murmured.

"So why'd he miss with the kill shot? It could just be a game to Rodacker. He's showing Miller he's the one with the power – that he could have killed her, but didn't. He's showing you that he's the one in charge – he can take out Miller on the courthouse steps if he wants to, and you can't do anything about it."

"But you don't know for sure?"

"No." Huang shook his head. "I can't say whether he really wants to kill your victim or not. I can't say whether he's running scared and desperate, trying to maintain his own illusions, or whether he's enjoying what he considers to be a game of cat and mouse."

"Thanks for the help, Doc," Elliot groaned, sarcastically.

"Sorry. If I could interview him, or get a hold of his military psychological evaluations maybe I could tell you more – and before you ask, there's no way I'll be allowed access to his records unless you come up with some very compelling evidence."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "Can you give me anything?"

Huang was quiet for several moments. "You've got to get ahead of him. He's been the one acting while others have been reacting. You've got to cut him off so that he's not the one making plans and acting on them."

"Any suggestions on how I do that, Doc?"

Huang shook his head, a sad expression on his face.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 

"They got to Huang. The sons of bitches are everywhere." Elliot rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of a headache. That's what this case had turned into… A big headache. He thought longingly of the jumbo size bottle of aspirin that was in his bottom desk drawer. Some aspirin and a swig of the pink stuff might be in order.

"You're starting to sound like Munch," Cragan joked, and then he shrugged, his lined face betraying worry. "I guess it doesn't surprise me. You know my phone's still ringing. Everyone from One Police Plaza to the mayor's still feeling heat on this. I'm surprised the media hasn't picked up on it."

Elliot huffed and squinted back at his captain. "I'd almost lay money on the military keeping the lid on that."

"Now you do really sound like John."

Elliot smirked. He supposed that it was unlikely for the military, however powerful, to be able to suppress the news media as a whole. If anything, intervention on that front would probably lead to more media attention. Reporters loved a conspiracy. For a moment, he wondered if a little press scrutiny might help grease the wheels, but he discounted the idea immediately. Such public scrutiny rarely helped in an investigation. They were already feeling the heat as it was, so setting the room on fire wouldn't help matters, plus he didn't think Juliet would appreciate being named as a rape victim in the city tabloids.

"I want to interview Rodacker," Elliot said bluntly.

Cragan shook his head, a surprised look on his face. "You don't have enough."

"But the thing with his rape victim in Jersey - "

"She recanted." Cragan said. "He's in the clear on that. Even if you get her to talk to you, it's not likely she'd carry much weight." He stood up from the desk, pushing his chair back sharply. He moved around the desk and sat down on the front corner. "Kasten's pretty much discredited. You've got no authority on Miller's rape allegations because of jurisdiction. All you've got is the shooting and so far you've got nothing to tie that to Stephen Rodacker."

Elliot knew his captain was right, but it didn't make him feel any better. "But I could still go and see him – maybe he'll talk to me voluntarily."

"You think he's just going to let you walk in there and interrogate him?"

"He might." It was possibly less of a long shot than his captain thought. If Huang's suspicion about Rodacker was correct, the man was playing some kind of cat and mouse game. Elliot would love to be alone in a room with the bastard. Granted, he envisioned beating the man's face in, but barring that, sweating out a confession would have to do.

Rodacker was a man who victimized others – those less powerful than he… those who didn't fit into his neat little antiquated definitions of what they should be. He'd gotten away with it because of his power and position. But Elliot wondered how the man would react to confrontation from someone not within his power and authority... someone with power of his own who he couldn't bully. Elliot desperately longed to be that person – the one who would issue the comeuppance so completely deserved.

"I don't have the authority to authorize that even if I wanted to, Elliot," the older man shook his head. "I've agreed that all contact with military sources in this investigation is to go through the Judge Advocate General's office." He looked hard at his detective. "If you want to talk to Rodacker, you've got to go through Makinsaw to do it."

"You just gonna to let the military push you around like that?" Elliot's voice was harsh.

"Detective, I've got my orders. We're under a shitload of scrutiny on this one. We've got to play it by the book and you don't have enough evidence for me to let you risk your ass getting into a confrontation with Rodacker."

"Is it _my_ ass you're worried about, Captain?"

Cragan's gaze turned icy. He stood and went back around to his chair where he sat down heavily. He pulled out some paperwork and started to shuffle through it, not looking at Stabler. "Do your job, Detective." His voice was clipped. "You want Rodacker; you get the evidence. Until then, you're wasting my time and my patience."

Elliot knew that what he'd said to his boss had been uncalled for, and he immediately felt sorry for it. Cragan had certainly put himself on the chopping block for members of the squad many times in the past. Given the high profile of this case, Elliot knew well that it was not just his own posterior that was at risk, but his boss's as well. He realized that he'd reacted badly. It was just because the investigation wasn't going well. He'd taken out his frustration on a man whose only sin was that he was within earshot. It was just so aggravating. Elliot disliked having little or no control, and he absolutely hated playing politics. This particular case was the worst of all worlds – he couldn't interview Rodacker, he was forced to work with Makinsaw, who he didn't trust further than he could throw him, and every resource he normally depended upon was under fire.

He should apologize, but he just couldn't make himself speak the words. He hoped that the older man could sense his regret as he turned to leave the office.

"Oh, and Elliot?"

He turned back to see his boss's sad lined face looking up at him.

"Play nice with Makinsaw. You're screwing with the one person who may have the ability to help you."

Elliot turned quickly to depart, hoping that his boss wasn't able to read his expression of disgust at the thought of having to play nice with that smug swabbie lawyer.

---------------------------

"Who said you could sit at my desk, Makinsaw?" he growled, looking down at the white-clad man in his chair.

Makinsaw looked up at him, eyebrows raised, the hint of a smile on his pale lips. "As a matter of fact, your captain did."

Elliot noticed that the normal arrangement of paperwork on his desk looked different, and a file was open. A file that he knew he had not left open. His belly burned, but he kept a tight hold on his emotions. "You've been going through my files?"

"_Our_ files. We're supposed to be working this case together, Detective, or don't you remember that?" Makinsaw replied.

Elliot wished he could wipe the smirk off Makinsaw's pallid face. He leaned in, resting his knuckles on the desk, fighting to keep his voice low. "I've got a dozen open cases, only one of which pertains to you, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't go digging through my desk, Makinsaw. Have you even heard of rape shield laws?"

The Navy man stood up and vacated the chair, gesturing to it. "As I understand it Detective Stabler, rape shield laws are specific to jurisdiction, but generally pertain to either bringing up a rape victim's sexual history in court, or preventing media sources from publicizing the names of rape victims. Neither one of those situations is applicable to me seeing these files."

Smug bastard, Elliot thought, realizing that he probably shouldn't try to debate the fine points of the law with a lawyer. Lawyers knew the law. Cops knew justice. The two were by no means the same. "Yeah, well the victims deserve privacy. Your pawing through their files is a violation. They've already been violated enough, don't you think?" He glared at the man. "They deserve consideration and respect. Not to mention the fact that you could be endangering their cases."

"I'm not endangering anything, Stabler. I'm just trying to find out what's going on with our investigation."

Elliot picked up the file that was open. "And this is just a little light reading for you? Or do you get off on reading the details a ten year old pimped out for crack money?" He pulled another file from the stack. "Then you might like this one – a woman who was raped in Central Park – by a gang of teenage boys. They beat her skull in with a rock afterward." He put that file down and picked up another one. "Or maybe this is more to your liking – a woman on her first date since moving to the city. The guy treated her real nice – dinner, flowers, the whole nine yards. Oh yeah, then when he walked her to her door, instead of giving her a goodnight kiss, he raped her. I'm sure she'll be glad to know that you find her experience so interesting."

Makinsaw's face looked as if he was considering this for a moment, and then he nodded. "All right, I see your point, Detective. I apologize."

"You're damn right, you do. Keep your nose out of anything that doesn't pertain to you."

Makinsaw's chagrined expression turned cool. "Perhaps if you keep me in the loop on your investigation into the Miller case, Detective Stabler, then I won't feel the need to go snooping again."

Elliot sat down in his chair, which felt disturbingly warm from Makinsaw's recent presence. He started to pull his disturbed paperwork back together. "So, you get anything out in Jersey?" He was glad for a change of subject. While Makinsaw's pawing through his paperwork had angered him, the last thing he needed was scrutiny into just what he wasn't telling the man. He was very glad that the notes from his and Olivia's chat with Hill hadn't yet made it into his files, and made a mental note to ensure that the Navy lawyer wouldn't stumble across anything he wasn't ready to let him see.

Makinsaw pulled a chair over and sat down. "Yes, I did. I was able to determine that the suspect did buy the ammo in the Lakehurst store."

"Really?" Elliot was genuinely surprised to hear Makinsaw's findings. He still wasn't sure if the JAG officer was a pawn or a real player in this mess. While he already knew that the shooter had indeed bought the ammunition from the Lakehurst shop near the naval base, he'd been half expecting Makinsaw to try to cover up any possible military link.

"The store employee identified him from the sketch artist rendering."

"That's good to hear because I came up empty in Queens and Brooklyn." Elliot hadn't actually been to either Queens or Brooklyn, having spent that morning with a New Jersey police detective who'd had a very interesting story to tell about a previous rape Rodacker had committed, but there was no need for Makinsaw to know about that just yet. "How about the scope?"

Makinsaw shook his head. "Not the gun or the scope. The shop doesn't carry either model."

Elliot leaned back in his chair. "Well, maybe he didn't have to buy the scope – maybe he just picked it up from base supply. Did you check into that, Commander?"

Makinsaw glared at Stabler. "I told you that scope was recently put out on the civilian market. There's nothing to point to it being military issued. But yes, since I knew you'd insist, I've got one of our investigators checking into all recent military requisitions for that model of scope – I'll find out where it was deployed and when. We keep excellent records on supply chain, as you probably recall from your own service days."

Elliot had to grudgingly admit that if there was one thing that the military had been good at, it was keeping up with the paperwork. Still, it didn't mean that things didn't slip through the cracks now and then – or into someone's pocket. He'd seen that as well, in his Marine Corps days. Wartime in particular was when weapons and ammunition often 'went missing' only to be discovered on the black market or in the hands of some sticky-fingered supply officer.

Makinsaw was continuing. "I'm sure it won't come to much, but I think you'll find I'm covering all the bases, Detective. I'll be sure to let you know when I have anything."

He nodded, frowning. "Yeah, OK." Elliot considered this. Was Jake Makinsaw really going to investigate this case? Even if it made some of his own look bad?

"Now I want to go and talk to Miller." The lawyer's face was resolute.

He had been expecting this, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. If he could have managed it, Elliot would have postponed the Navy lawyer's contact with Juliet yet again. Unfortunately, he knew the man wasn't about to budge, and if Makinsaw went to Captain Cragan about it... No, if the man wanted to see Miller then Elliot would have to take him. At least he'd be there… maybe get more of a handle on Makinsaw's agenda… and make sure Juliet had someone there in her corner.

Elliot shrugged. "You sure?" he asked, going through the motions, not really expecting the man to change his mind. "The doc says she's going to be on some heavy-duty pain meds for a while. You might not get much from her."

Makinsaw smiled. "I'll take that chance. Let's go. Now."

The man's smile was measured, Elliot saw, displaying four perfectly straight and very white teeth. He speculated that the Navy officer was observing him for his particular reaction. He returned the smile with his own and nodded. "OK, let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 

Elliot was glad to see a uniformed officer outside the door to Juliet Miller's hospital room. He hoped the guy was taking things seriously. Protection detail wasn't a coveted assignment among cops, he well knew. He didn't know this particular officer, which bothered him. The man looked young… a rookie, probably. That's just what he needed, some dumb newbie getting bored and wandering off, or being too nervous to stop anybody really determined to get in. He watched the man standing by the door and wondered just how good he was.

Elliot motioned for his Naval companion to wait as he approached the doorway and tried to enter.

"Excuse me, sir," the uniformed officer said, moving to block the door. "Nobody except authorized personnel is allowed in this room."

"It's OK," he said, smiling. "I'm her brother." He tried to edge past the guard, whose nametag he noted read "Erskine."

In a second, the officer Erskine, a young lanky African American, had him up against the wall, face pressed firmly against the wallboard, an arm twisted efficiently behind, effectively immobilizing him.

The man breathed into his ear, his voice low and gruff. "I told you, nobody goes in or out without authorization!"

Elliot chuckled, although given that his face was squashed against the wall, it came out a little bit like a grunt. He managed to enunciate, "My badge is in my coat pocket, Officer."

The uniformed officer, not releasing his hold, reached around with his free hand and found the correct pocket. Pulling out the badge, he examined it. Then he released his grip and stepped back.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't know it was you." Erskine's expression showed confusion.

"That's OK. You did great."

Erskine's voice turned angry. "You wanted to see if I was doing my job, Detective?"

"Sorry for messing with you. I just…" He wasn't sure what to say. He had only wanted to make sure that Juliet was protected. He hadn't meant to bruise any egos. It had been a dumb move on his part. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was to alienate the person whose job it was to stand between Juliet and someone trying to kill her. That man deserved more respect than what he'd just been given; it was clear that he was well capable.

"Sorry. You're doing a great job here." Elliot changed the subject. "Did you get a bulletin that the suspect in the shooting has been seen in the area?"

The man's expression turned businesslike. "Yes sir, but so far everything's been real quiet."

Elliot nodded. "I want you to be careful – the shooter's a pro."

"I will, Detective." Erskine assured him, his voice businesslike.

"This," Elliot said, pointing at the white-clad Naval officer who was approaching, "Is Commander Jake Makinsaw. I'm going to take him in to interview Lieutenant Miller. But he is never," he repeated with a hand gesture for emphasis, "never to be allowed into this room without my presence. I want you to remember that and spread the word to everyone else on this duty." He examined officer Erskine's face to make sure he was getting his point across.

"Got it, sir." Erskine looked deadly serious. "I already got orders to not let anybody in except a few known doctors, nurses, and yourself, of course."

"Yeah, and you've done great. I just didn't want you to think because I'm bringing him in now, that he has carte blanche to come back on his own."

The uniformed officer nodded patiently. Erskine's expression was wavering between serious and annoyed. Elliot decided that he'd better leave the man to do his job before he put his foot in it again.

"OK, Makinsaw." He turned to the navy lawyer. "In we go."

"Was that really necessary, Stabler?" Makinsaw asked as they entered the room.

He shrugged. "Think of it as an STX." Yeah, that was it, he decided – just a little Situational Training Exercise - gotta to keep the troops on their toes. He lifted his hand. "Hold up a minute."

Elliot approached the bed where Juliet lay sleeping. He leaned over the bed, brushing her hand lightly with his as he leaned in. He was careful to keep his body turned so his back was in the line of Makinsaw's vision, so the man could not see. The young woman looked better than she had when he'd seen her last, he was relieved to notice. Her skin was less pale, and she looked more peaceful in her sleep. Her breathing was steady and deep, and he hated to wake her, but he knew he had no choice.

"Juliet?" he whispered in a low voice, little more than a breath, and then he spoke more loudly, "Lieutenant? Lieutenant Miller?"

She stirred and woke, her dark eyes growing bright and alert as she focused on him.

"El-"

He cut off her informal use of his name, not wanting Makinsaw to hear her say it. "Lieutenant Miller, It's Detective Stabler, do you remember me?" he asked, going on without waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I've got Lieutenant Commander Makinsaw from the Judge Advocate General here to talk to you." He heard a sharp intake of breath and saw that she had paled slightly. He lowered his voice. "Don't worry, I'll be here with you the whole time."

He gave her a small smile. Stepping back from the bed, he pulled the bedside chair back and sat down. He gestured Makinsaw forward as he assured her, "Lieutenant Miller, if at any point you want to stop the interview, that is your right."

Makinsaw gave him a look at his last comment and stepped forward.

"Lieutenant Juliet Miller," the lawyer addressed the young woman formally, standing over her.

Miller stirred. To Elliot it looked as though she was attempting to lie at attention. The effort seemed to have caused her some pain, he noticed, annoyed with the peculiar vagaries of military custom. From his seat in the chair, he was slightly behind Makinsaw, and out of the man's direct line of sight. He gave her a smile of reassurance.

"Commander, sir," she responded to the officer.

Elliot noticed that Makinsaw's white dress uniform remained immaculate. The man looked freshly starched despite having spent the morning slogging around New Jersey. It was annoying. He was reminded of Makinsaw's pristine appearance after the shooting – a white bereft of the blood of a comrade-in-arms who had just been shot down.

"Do you remember me?" the white-clad officer asked.

"Yes, sir," the woman replied. "You're the JAG officer from the court hearing, sir."

That was certainly true, but Elliot was sure to Juliet that the JAG officer was far more than just someone she had seen at the courthouse. This was the man who had hunted her – tracked her down - and taken her into custody with promises of spending her next years in a military prison for crimes she hadn't committed… a man who would give no credence to her allegations… a man who was covering for the one who had hurt her so badly. He wondered how Juliet could respond so civilly to the man after all that she had been through.

Makinsaw nodded, curtly. "Do you remember the shooting, Lieutenant?"

Juliet's eyes caught Elliot's. He shrugged.

"Not really, sir." Her voice was quiet. "I remember being taken out of the courthouse. I remember getting close to the car and then hearing a loud noise. I fell down – thought I had tripped. And then everything went dark."

"So you didn't see who shot you?"

"No sir." She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Do you know this man?" Makinsaw held up the sketch artist rendering of the suspect. The artist had well captured the scraggly hair, goatee, and gaunt facial features.

Behind Makinsaw, Elliot touched his forehead and shook his head slightly. He wasn't ready for Makinsaw to know that the man had been stalking Juliet, and that he knew about it. It was not really ethical for him to ask her to lie, but he didn't feel all that bad about keeping Makinsaw in the dark at this point.

She hesitated for a moment. "I don't think so, sir."

"You don't think so, Lieutenant?" Makinsaw spat.

Her face grew clouded. Stabler groaned inwardly. The woman seemed pretty uncomfortable with outright deception. If he hadn't already believed her story about being brutally assaulted by her commanding officer, seeing her face now while undertaking this small deception would have certainly assured him that she was incapable of making up her story.

"I have never met the man in the picture, sir." Her voice was stronger, more resolved.

Indeed, it was true that she had never met the man, Elliot thought. It was clever of her to get around Makinsaw without lying outright. An experienced cop would probably pick up on the nuance of her omission and realize there was more to it, probably press her on that. Perhaps a lawyer would as well, he considered, at least a criminal lawyer like an ADA would. But the Navy was a different world, and JAG officers weren't slogging it out in the courts with the riffraff on a daily basis like the lawyers he knew did.

Makinsaw turned to look at Stabler, who was sitting back in his chair trying appear slightly disinterested in the whole process. Then he turned back to Juliet. "As soon as you're feeling better, Lieutenant, you'll be transferred to Bathesda to complete your recovery."

Juliet's breath caught in her throat, and she blinked.

Stabler stood up quickly. "Don't worry Lieutenant; the shooting is under investigation by the NYPD. You're the victim and a material witness. You'll be staying here if I have anything to say about it."

"Which you may not," Makinsaw observed dryly.

"So," Elliot said, "You've asked her and she doesn't remember the shooter or being shot, Makinsaw. You done now? 'Cause I've got stuff to do."

"You're more than welcome to leave, Stabler, but I intend on questioning the Lieutenant further."

"Then get on with it." Elliot sat back down, the legs of the chair squeaking slightly against the floor tiles. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Do you have any idea why someone would have wanted to shoot you, Lieutenant Miller?" Makinsaw asked.

"I think someone wanted to shut me up, sir," she replied after a brief pause.

"And you believe that someone is Commander Stephen K. Rodacker?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you aware that the Commander was at a meeting at the Pentagon at the time you were shot?"

"He's not going to do the dirty work himself, Commander," Elliot jumped in. "We know the shooter isn't Rodacker himself from the eye-witnesses. Doesn't mean he didn't make it happen."

"Ah yes, the conspiracy theory. I thought this might come up." Makinsaw set his briefcase down on the bed, opened it, and removed a file. "Lieutenant, I have here a file of your performance reviews from the past year. Is it fair to say that your performance evaluations have gone significantly downhill in that time?"

She was silent. She looked from Makinsaw to Elliot and back again.

"When a superior officer asks you a question, you will answer, Lieutenant." The Commander's voice was stern.

"Sir, yes sir." Her voice sounded. "My performance evaluations have gone downhill, sir, but my performance has not, sir." She grew short of breath from this spiel, and fell back against the pillows, gasping a little, pulling an IV-laden arm across her midsection.

"Take it easy, Makinsaw." Elliot growled at the blond man. He stood up. "Lieutenant Miller, the docs said you shouldn't exert yourself."

Makinsaw continued, nonplussed, flipping through the file. "And I suppose these letters of reprimand are fabricated?"

She nodded. "Yes sir." Her voice was still breathy from exertion.

"You're accusing your commanding officer of lying?"

She paused for a moment, and then swallowed. "I guess so, sir. I know that I did nothing deserving of reprimand, sir."

Makinsaw leaned over, his voice cold. "And you never tried to blackmail Commander Rodacker into rescinding these 'undeserved' black marks on your record?"

"No sir."

Makinsaw pulled back and then paced back and forth a few times alongside the bed, flipping through pages in the file. "I find it hard to believe, Lieutenant, that before you made these allegations against your commander, that it is already here noted in your file that you were threatening to make these very allegations."

That was the crux of the matter, Elliot thought. The man, a predator, had been smart enough to lay the groundwork to discredit his victim. He'd seen a lot of perps in his day, some committing their crimes in the heat of anger, not caring what evidence they left or that they were at the mercy of their victim's ability to identify them. But some were coldly calculating. It was the calculating ones that proved to be the toughest. These were those who left no evidence, provided alibis, and discredited their victims. Normally in a straightforward rape case, this kind of perp was rare. He-said, she-said cases were tough enough to prove, but a case with a shaky victim and a Teflon defendant, it could be damn near impossible. Rodacker had laid the groundwork to discredit Juliet. He'd thought by doing this he would get away with his crime… perhaps he would, Elliot thought, glumly, although it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

"That's because he planned it, sir," Juliet said.

"Who?"

"Rodacker." She spit the name from her lips as though it was poisonous.

"Commander Rodacker," Makinsaw said, stressing the rank. "Just what did Commander Rodacker plan?"

"To make it so no one would believe me, sir."

"A commander in the United States Navy risked his career falsifying military records in order to discredit you?" Makinsaw's voice sounded his incredulity aloud.

"Yes, sir." Miller's voice was quiet. To Elliot it sounded like she knew that she wouldn't be believed. It gnawed at his gut. He wished he could will her the strength she needed to stand up to Makinsaw. He wanted her to see the Naval man as a stand-in for Rodacker… so she could show the bastard that she wasn't going to let herself be raped again – this time by the system… that she was not going to be denied justice for what was done to her.

"Why?" Makinsaw asked. "Why would a senior officer in the United States Navy go through such hoops to ruin the reputation of staff under his command?"

She sighed. "He put all that stuff in my record so nobody'd believe me when I told them what he did."

"So no one would believe your allegations of rape?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, sir."

"So you're saying he planned to rape you, Lieutenant?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't know. He'd been making my life hell since I got transferred into the unit. I don't know if he planned the rape or if he was just trying to wash me out of the program."

"Why would he want to do that?"

Because he's a psycho misogynist bastard on a power trip, Elliot thought, although he did not give voice to his derision.

"He never wanted a woman in his unit." Her breathing grew shallower and more rapid.

"Since nearly all ratings-" the navy man turned to Stabler, "that's like MOS - Military Occupational Specialty - to you jarheads," he turned back to Juliet, "- since nearly all ratings are integrated, I wouldn't think he'd have any choice in the matter."

She snorted. "He's been fighting it for years. I was the first, and he wanted me to be the last." She swallowed, grimacing a little.

"You okay?" Elliot leaned over.

"Yeah. I'm okay." Her face looked a little gray.

"You in too much pain to continue?" he asked.

"She said she's fine, Detective," Makinsaw snapped back at Stabler. "Lieutenant, here in your performance review, another officer, Commander Martin Alvarez, reports that you've been derelict in your duties on several occasions – late for duty, negligent in the completion of tasks, uniform violations. Is he part of this great conspiracy as well?"

"I performed all duties assigned to me."

"Then how do you explain this report, Lieutenant?"

"Commander Alvarez is a friend of Commander Rodacker's."

"So you're accusing yet another career naval officer of breaking regulation and the law of the United States with the sole purpose of abusing you?" Makinsaw slapped the file down in his briefcase and leaned over Juliet's supine figure. "What makes you so important, Lieutenant?"

Elliot could see her face, lined with pain and stress. Her breathing was growing rapid and shallow. "Back off, Makinsaw," he growled as warning.

"I… I don't know. I only know -" she paused for breath, "- that Rodacker raped me."

"That's not a good enough answer, Lieutenant."

Elliot stood up and moved between the ashen-faced Juliet and the lawyer. "This stops now. I think she needs the nurse."

"She said she's fine Detective."

"I… I think I'd like my pain medication now." Juliet's voice was strained.

"Not until we're finished," Makinsaw said, leaning around the police detective. "Lieutenant Miller is going to try to tell me just what makes her so damned important that two decorated officers would risk their careers over her."

"I don't know," she said, her voice quiet and shaky.

"You don't know. But he raped you."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"Why?" she parroted weakly. She took a long shallow breath and held it. Then released it. "He said… he told me he wanted to show me why I didn't belong in his unit… in the Navy." She paused, her face strained. "He said that I was lucky it was him fucking me and not some Iraqi insurgents." She took another shaky breath, eyes closed tightly. "Please, the nurse - "

"I said back the hell off." Elliot could see tears beginning to creep from under Juliet's tightly closed lashes. He pushed Makinsaw back, hard, wedging himself between the Navy man and the hospital bed. "This interview is over, Commander." He pressed the call button for the nurse and hoped the pain meds would work swiftly to give Juliet release.

---------------------------------------------

"You pushed her too hard," Elliot said in the hallway, getting up in Jake Makinsaw's face.

"She's a naval officer, Detective. She can take it." The man's voice was matter-of-fact.

"She's a rape victim, and she's been shot, for crying out loud."

"I'll agree that she has been shot. Are you still believing this rape story?"

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do."

"Even after hearing about her performance reviews and attempted blackmail?" Makinsaw shook his head. "I can supply you with copies of her records."

"That's a load of crap. Rodacker's a rapist. He should be in jail."

"You'd believe the word of a woman up on desertion and attempted murder charges over a decorated officer with nearly thirty years of service?"

"I do," Elliot said. "Look, Commander, I've worked Special Victims for over a decade. That's all I do – deal with rapes, sexual assault, abuse. Every day. You saw the files." He shook his head, but he'd rather have shaken Rodacker until his teeth rattled. "That's it. It's what I do. Juliet Miller is telling the truth. I know it. That woman was raped."

Makinsaw turned to face him. "Stabler, have you heard the expression: if all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail?"

He blinked. "You want to see a nail, Makinsaw? Because I'll show you a nail anytime you like." He leaned in close to the man – could smell his breath and the onions he'd had with lunch... could see the sallow pores of his skin. His captain's warning about playing nice with the navy lawyer was long forgotten.

"Ah, the budding of inter-service friendship and camaraderie," a voice broke in. "It just does something to me, right here." Odafin Tutuola laid a hand over his heart and sniffed sarcastically as he walked up.

Elliot stepped back from the navy lawyer, keeping his gaze fixed on the man for several seconds. He turned, "Fin, got anything on our perp?"

"Yeah, he's been spotted down the block. I think he's watching the hospital. We're going through footage from the security cameras on the doors. I wanted to let you know. Your vic OK?"

Stabler nodded. "Yep. There's a uniform on the door – nobody's getting past him without artillery."

"Cool. So this is your swabbie lawyer, huh?"

"Yeah," Elliot stepped back. "Fin, this is Commander Makinsaw from the Navy's Judge Advocate General office. Makinsaw, this is Detective Odafin Tutuola from my unit."

"Hey," Fin said, looking Makinsaw up and down with that cool, evaluative - and vaguely threatening - stare that had served him well in his past undercover narcotics work.

Makinsaw looked a little disconcerted under the sudden scrutiny. "Detective."

Elliot saw Fin give him a signal – just a slight jerk of the head. He wasn't sure how to lose Makinsaw, though. Luckily it appeared that Fin had a plan.

"Commander, my partner, Detective Munch, wonders if he can borrow you for a minute. He's in the security office on the second floor."

"Uh, I suppose so. Detective Stabler?"

Stabler shrugged. "Sure, go on. I'll meet you back at the station after."

Both men watched the tall white clad man depart.

"So what's up, Fin?"

"Munch says you're keeping the squid out of the loop, so I figured we'd better talk alone." Fin looked around him as if to ensure the navy man hadn't returned.

"Yeah, thanks. So what's going on?"

"Your shooter's been here. We caught him on the security tapes. Came in as flower delivery earlier today. Brought a bouquet to a room down the hall from your vic's."

Elliot felt his chest tighten. Damn. That was why he'd insisted on a protection detail, because he expected Juliet was in danger. But the reality of the shooter being there, in the hospital, yards from Juliet's hospital room… It was disconcerting, to say the least. "He try to get into her room?"

"Nah, just brought the flowers and left. Munch and I figure he's checking the place out – seeing what kind of security we've got going on."

"Damn." Elliot looked around him warily, glad to see that officer Erskine was still at his post beside the door. He made a note to check on relief procedure – there was no way he wanted a shift-change boondoggle to leave Juliet unprotected. "Any chance he's still in the hospital?" He started considering whether he should try to have Juliet moved or get more officers on protection.

"Nah, the video's pretty clear," Fin said. "The guy was in and out, five minutes, tops. I figure he's trying to get the lay of the land. But that means that he'll probably be back for the dirty work."

"Damn," Elliot said again.

"Yeah. Cragan wants to see you back at the station. Munch's going to keep 'Popeye the Lawyer Man' busy for a while."


End file.
